Why Do You Love Me?
by CBeta
Summary: HBP Spoilers! Harry is abused and raped at home, but when the abuse stops, he turns to selfmutilation as a form of release from the world. Some mentions of suicide. HPDM, Slash. More warnings inside.
1. The Begining

Why Do You Love Me?

**Disclaimer**: Of course I don't own Harry and Co.! J.K. is much more talented than I, and it will remain to be so for all of time! _:author sighs sadly:_

**Warnings**: _Slash_, _rape_, _abuse_, _neglect_, _self-harm, bulimia_ (possibly), _language _and **_sexual content_**; you have been **warned**.

**AT TIMES, THE SCENES IN THIS FIC CAN BE BRUTAL AND GRAPHIC. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE THIS TYPE OF THING. **

_Drunken Vernon pronounces his "s" as an "sh" sound. This is because his disgustingly fat tongue is much too large for his hole of a mouth when his is in this state. That should explain why it looks weird when drunken Vernon talks. _

A/N: _**Cliché**? _Maybe. _**Do I care?** _No. I've decided to give this particular plot bunny my own spin on it! R, R & R! (Read, Relax & Review!)

**Chapter One**

**The Beginning**

It had all started with a seemingly accidental slap over the head. After all, Harry had been pushing on his last nerves; it only made sense that he be punished. Vernon's eyes had gone wide with surprise at his own actions, and fear of what Harry would do with his magic in retaliation, and Harry hadn't seen him for three days after. Of course Harry had been shocked when it happened, but they _had _been having a rather heated argument over whether Harry would be allowed to bring his wand with him out of the house. Harry had been known to lose his temper every once in a while; it only made sense that Vernon had and hit him in the process. It was forgivable.

But how wrong Harry had been to believe that it would never happen again.

Five days later, after everyone had seemingly forgotten about it, Harry had been cooking breakfast in the kitchen when his Aunt Petunia had come in. It was a warm, sunny day in the beginning of July; nearly Harry's birthday. Aunt Petunia had gone about her usual business; watching Harry like a hawk, lest he burnt her precious Dudders' eggs and bacon. Harry was used to this, she had been doing it for about five years now, ever since the fateful day that Harry had been left alone in the kitchen to cook Vernon and Petunia their Anniversary dinner while they went to some fancy restaurant for their lunch and Harry had accidentally burnt the ham to a crisp, and completely slaughtered the desert (though by no fault of his own. His twelve-year-old cooking skills were hardly adequate enough to cook a whole meal, let alone a whole ham, no matter how much of a hero he was in the Wizarding world).

Harry had been slipping deeply into his musings as he mechanically flipped the bacon and waited for the toaster to pop up the toast. Aunt Petunia had just gone from the room to gather the mail that had been pushed through the slot, and came back with a newspaper that she set gently at the head of the table, where Vernon always sat. Flipping through the envelopes absent-mindedly as she watched Harry sharply out of the corner of her eye as he turned the bacon once more, she nearly missed the bright pink envelope that was addressed directly to Harry in bright red, sparkling ink. But she _didn't _miss it.

With a shriek, Petunia dropped the envelope and rushed from the room, Harry staring after her for a few moments before noticing the bright pink splotch on the floor. Stooping down, Harry picked it up and looked at it questioningly. "To me?" He asked no one in particular. With a small grin, Harry slipped his finger under the flap and opened the envelope. An equally bright pink piece of parchment fell from its folds, followed by a Galleon that was dyed a weird light pink color, to land on the floor with a soft windy sound and a clink. Harry eyed the items warily, before picking up the piece of parchment first.

_Harry!_

_Cho here! I was just wondering how your summer's been. Mine's been great! I've heard from Hermione that your birthday's coming up, and I've decided to send you this little gift. It may not seem like much, but looks can be deceiving. Don't touch the Galleon yet. _Harry eyed those words oddly, before continuing to read the scrawled note. _Yeah, I know that seems like something weird to ask of you, but it's a portkey to the Three Broomsticks. Before you start wondering why, let me just say that there's a little something special taking place there right now, so don't miss it! If you pick up the portkey with gloves, it shouldn't transport you, so pick it up and put it somewhere safe. Wouldn't want the relatives to pick it up; they'd be awfully scared to find that they'd been moved to the middle of no where in mere seconds. Hogsmeade is quite far from any muggle civilization, mind you! Anyways, this note is getting rather long, and I'm running out of red ink, so let me just tell you these final parting words: Touch the Galleon at sometime around noon-ish. That's when everything begins. If you aren't there by around twelve thirty, we'll send out a search party; I'm not kidding!_

_All the best!_

_Cho_

Harry blinked confusedly. Cho had never sent him anything, and after their falling out in fifth year, Harry had been quite sure that she would never want to talk to him again. Something seemed weird about the "little gift", but Harry pushed down his gut feeling as he grabbed a dish cloth and picked up the portkey with it carefully covering his hand, pocketing the oddly discolored Galleon before Vernon or Petunia came back and saw it there. Tossing the hideous pink (Harry never _had _been able to stand pink after fifth year because of the rancid robes and other clothes of a similar color that Dolores Umbridge had decided to wear constantly) parchment and envelope into the nearest rubbish bin, Harry went back to the skillet to flip the bacon once more to find that it was already burnt, and the eggs looked much worse for wear.

Just as Harry was scraping the last bits of bacon from the frying pan, Vernon stormed in; he looked livid. His face was a bright puce color, and his moustache was trembling with suppressed anger. "Letters!" Vernon spat at Harry. "You're getting bloody letters! How many times? _How many times_?"

Harry blinked confusedly as Vernon's words became unintelligible. Vernon slammed his hand down hard on the counter, much too close to Harry for comfort. Vernon's other fist slammed into the counter on the other side of Harry, caging him in between the counter and his own fleshy body. Glaring deeply into Harry's eyes, Vernon continued to spout any words his mouth would form, spit spraying into Harry's face and causing him to flinch. Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out what Vernon was saying, but he knew the way he was looking at him couldn't be a good thing.

When Vernon's ranting finally wore down, Harry opened his mouth to speak, and instantly regretted it, as it only seemed to anger Vernon more.

"Ungrateful bastard!" Vernon spat, finally managing coherent words. "Filth! Disgusting, freakish…_thing_! We feed you, we give you the clothes off of our own son's _back_, and _this _is how you repay us? Secretly initiating contact with the likes of…of…" Vernon trailed off and reached for the now-filthy pink envelope in with the rest of the trash. "Cho Chang!" He completed the first intelligible sentence Harry had heard from him all day, and proceeded to drop the envelope only to slap Harry across the face. "Well, what did it say?"

Vernon glared at Harry expectantly, hand lingering in the air as an idle threat that provoked Harry into speaking. "Er…something's going on at the Three Broomsticks and she wants me to be there today by noon." Harry answered reluctantly, averting his eyes at the look of pure outrage on his uncle's face.

"And what? She expected me to take you there for this little get together? I thought I told you to tell your ruddy friends that the likes of them aren't welcome in this house, and as soon as you're seventeen, neither are you!"

Harry gulped as he watched the hand swing down again, this time connecting with the corner of his glasses, tossing them off of his face to land with a loud click on the tile floor just meters away.

"I…I did! I did tell them!"

"Do not fucking _lie _to me!" Vernon punctuated the sentence with another slap that sent a loud crack echoing through the house and snapped Harry's head to an awkward position, is neck cracking slightly with the force.

"I…I'm not!" Harry struggled to get the words out. He could taste blood, and his tongue was throbbing in pain. He must have bit it.

"I've _told _you that I don't like your kind! I've _told _you they're not welcome! I've _told _you!" Vernon was shouting, spit flying from his mouth violently as his face turned a dark maroon color. "How many _fucking _times do I have to fucking _tell _you?"

Harry cringed and tried to shrink away from his uncle, who was heaving with each breath he took, but couldn't seem to shut up about what he had _told _Harry.

"I _know _what you've told me! I swear I've told my friends they're not welcome here! I've told them not to send mail the mug-normal way! They know not to!"

"Well apparently that ruddy Cho Chang doesn't! What is she? Your fuck buddy? I could have sworn you were queer; like father like son, as they say." Vernon's breathing was back under control, and his eyes glinted maliciously; he knew that these words would provoke Harry more than any action ever would.

"My father was not gay!" Harry cried out, lashing out at Vernon and giving him the advantage he had pushed for. With a sharp lunge, Vernon had Harry on the ground. His body was laying on him heavily as he slapped Harry over and over again, muttering things under his breath such as, "Filth," and "Disgusting," with every blow he landed.

Harry was completely helpless to stop the beating. As the flogging continued, Harry could feel the world around him begin to dim; his vision became fuzzy as he lost all feeling in his head, and his breathing began to slow as his eyes slid slowly shut. The world of unconsciousness welcomed him with warm, fuzzily safe-feeling open arms, and Harry more than willingly went into the embrace, even as, in the living world, his uncle continued the vicious beating well after he fell into unconsciousness; even continued to beat Harry long after Harry's nose broke and some other bone in his body crunched loudly with the impact of his meaty fist

…

…

…

When Harry finally regained consciousness, he was back in the room he had woken up in that morning: his own. His body was achingly sore, and it took him a while to take in his surroundings before he realized that it was completely dark outside. It took him a few more moments to remember what had happened between waking _then _and waking _now_. Harry's head was pounding, and his left cheek felt a lot bigger than it should have been. Harry lifted his hand up to his cheek, and instantly regretted it.

Moments later, when Harry had regained his breath, he tried to sit up. His aching bones protested, but Harry forced himself into a sitting position. Looking across the room and into the full length mirror that stood there, Harry could tell that he was badly battered and bruised. The first question that flew through his head was 'Why did Uncle Vernon do this?' That was quickly followed by more, until the dam in his head burst and he was no longer safe from even his own thoughts; he feared he may drown in them if he didn't do something.

Reaching to his bedside table, Harry clicked on the lamp that rested there and reached for his glasses, which were held together with a band of white tape. Harry was confused for a moment; they hadn't been held together like this since his first year when Hermione had fixed them for him. Then he remembered what had conspired in the kitchen again, and shuddered violently.

As he tried to place them on his face, a shooting pain that began at the bridge of his nose and worked it's way into his temples and into the very core of his head until he could nearly feel his brain pulsing worked its way through him, making him shudder and gasp for breath; his vocal cords wouldn't allow him to scream.

Hedwig hooted comfortingly from her perch in her cage on top of the dresser to the left of him, and Harry forced himself to smile softly, placing the glasses back where they had come from, deeming it impossible to don them. "Hedwig," His voice cracked and fell to a whisper on its own accord. Harry pulled a face, though not completely successful because of his bloated cheek that was rapidly turning a dark purple that looked almost black in the meek lighting of the lamp beside him.

Resigned to make his voice a whisper, Harry closed his eyes, counted to ten, then started again. "Hedwig, can you…can you get out?" Hedwig hooted her confirmation, and Harry nodded. "Do it. Then get me a piece of parchment and a quill." Hedwig hooted again, and Harry could hear the creaking of the door to her cage as she quietly batted her wings and landed gracefully on the foot of his bed, nipping softly at his big toe that was sticking out from underneath the blanket before setting to her task.

When the quill and the parchment were pressed into his waiting hand, Harry petted Hedwig's head softly. Glancing around the room, Harry's brow furrowed as much as allowed with the injuries notwithstanding, then glanced at Hedwig again. "Do I have any ink?" He asked after a moment of Hedwig staring into his eyes in an almost eerie way.

Hedwig hooted again, this time to tell Harry that no, he did not, in fact, have any ink. Harry closed his eyes tightly again, thinking of anything else he could use, but came up blank. Just then, a drop of red dripped off of his forehead and landed on his arm. Harry's eyes trailed to the sticky substance, and a small grin alighted his eyes. He dipped the quill in the red drop of blood that was on his arm, and quickly began his letter.

When he was almost finished, the blood had dried up; both the blood that had dripped onto his arm, and the blood that had been the source of this drip. With a thoughtful expression, Harry glanced over at Hedwig, who was sitting at his feet and respectfully not bothering him. She was grooming herself, but when she felt Harry's eyes on her she looked up and met his gaze.

"Hedwig," Harry started in his raspy whisper. He held out his left hand, motioned to the index finger and said, "Bite this. Hard enough to draw blood."

At Hedwig's questioning gaze, Harry nodded encouragement and extended the finger further. With an apology in her eyes, Hedwig sharply nipped at the extended finger, and Harry had to suppress his yelp by smothering his mouth with the other hand. Harry nodded his thanks and dipped the quill into the blood dripping from his finger, hurriedly scratching out the rest of the note. With a soft blow to assure himself that the blood-ink was dry, Harry folded it up. Hedwig opened her beak. Harry put the letter in her beak and petted her on the head softly. "Give this to…Hermione." He rasped after thinking of who to send the letter to.

Hedwig nodded and swiftly flew out the cracked-open window and into the dark night. Harry lay back in his bed and thought; it was the only thing he could do until morning when his Aunt Petunia would come up and wake him from his musings, insisting that he make the whole family breakfast. His Aunt Marge was supposed to come to visit some time this week, and Harry was really not looking forward to that, especially after the incident five years ago when he had accidentally blown her up like a balloon. The Dursley's were surely going to be watching him with an eagle eye until he had to leave for school, as her stay was going to be extended (she would be staying until November, and Harry was glad that he would be leaving soon. He could barely stand her).

What Harry couldn't understand was why no one had came after twelve the day before. Cho had said that they would send out a search party, but why was no one there? Why wasn't Harry at the Burrow with Ron and Hermione and everyone else, enjoying himself and putting down Percy behind his back for the disownment of his family?

Harry buried his head in his hands and let out a soft, strangled sob. People always lied to him, kept the truth from him, and no one was looking for him; no one cared that he hadn't gone to the Three Broomsticks, and no one cared that he hadn't shown up for any other events that he had been invited to, and no one was going to come and rescue him from the abuse he had endured the day before.

A light tapping on his door broke him from his musings, and he looked up in time to see his Aunt Petunia entering his room, tray of water and dry toast in her hands. She softly shut the door behind her, and looked to Harry with her large, brown eyes full of sorrow. "I…I thought you might be hungry. You've been out for three days. Oh, gods, you look a mess." her voice shuddered, and she drew in a deep breath, grabbing onto the short, squat bookshelf by the door to steady herself. Her face was red and her mascara was running down her cheeks in rivulets, indication that she had been crying, but Harry hardly noticed these things because of his lack of glasses.

He tried to send her his most choleric, disgusted look, but failed miserably as his face pulled into a grimace of pain instead. "I, uh…" Petunia licked her dry lips as she searched for words. "I kicked him out."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Wh…what do you mean?"

"I told him to give you a strong talking to…not to beat you senseless. I just…I'm sorry, Harry," Petunia said.

Harry looked at her, even more confused at the way _she _was acting than he had been by the way his _uncle _had been acting. "But-"

"Here," His aunt said, shoving the tray into his arms. Then, as if noticing for the first time that he was bleeding, she pulled back. "Oh! That should have stopped!" She exclaimed, pulling Harry's hand towards her so that she could examine the cut on his finger.

"I…my forehead was bleeding earlier, too." Harry said, pointing to his forehead with his unoccupied finger, hoping to draw his aunt's attention from the fact that the wound on his finger was recent.

"You must have re-opened the cuts while you were tossing in your sleep. I heard you screaming; you were having a nightmare. I hope it wasn't about Vernon. He didn't mean to-"

"What the hell do you mean, 'He didn't mean to'?" Harry spouted, slamming the back of his arm into the tray on his bed and sending it flying across to land on the floor, the glass that had once held the water broken, and the toast sticking to the wall; apparently it wasn't as dry as it appeared. "He didn't _stop_, did he?"

Harry's aunt just stared at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. "He…"

Harry sighed. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them roughly with his fingers, forgetting for a moment that his finger was bleeding. When the blood seeped into his eye, Harry gasped. Petunia grasped his hand firmly, and yanked it away from his eye as he frantically tried to swipe at it to get the blood out.

"Blink." She commanded, and Harry did so, multiple times.

When the blood finally left Harry's eye, Harry looked at her, anger and hurt, but something else as well, lingering in his eyes. "How come you didn't wrap any of my wounds?" He asked insistently.

Petunia looked at him, worry creasing her normally scowling features. "When Lily was a child, she fell out of a tree and broke her arm. It mended almost over night, without any hospitalization or anything else of the sort; it was her magic helping her. I suspected the same would happen to you, so I left you be. Your nose mended, but it's still a little damaged. I suppose with another couple of days it will be fine. If you think you look bad now, you should have seen yourself three days ago!"

Harry blinked at her. "You should have wrapped my wounds. And what do you mean, my nose mended? Was it broken?"

Petunia nodded sadly, dropping Harry's hand and walking towards the door. "I fully expect you to clean up that mess once you're capable of it." She said, the normal harshness back in her voice. With that, she left the room, slamming the door roughly behind her.

…

…

…

That night as Harry lay in his bed, wondering where Hedwig was and what Hermione would think of his letter, Harry heard a car door slam in the front drive. Blinking curiously, as he certainly hadn't heard it leave and the front light wasn't on, Harry stood painfully and hobbled across his room to the window. Flipping the thin curtain open, Harry watched as his uncle made his way up the dark front drive, drunkenly tripping over the lawn gnome that Dudley had made at school and had been very proud of in grade four that Petunia had just recently found and put on display for the whole neighborhood.

Tripping over the wretched, three eyed, purple gnome put Vernon in a very angry state, and he made quite a ruckus as he cursed the "damned thing" out, landing a hard kick that caused it to break into four separate pieces to it just for good measure before Vernon made his way to the front door and drunkenly pulled out his keys from his pocket. After a few vain attempts, the door was unlocked, and Vernon failed to remember to push it shut after him.

He stumbled up the stairs loudly, and Harry could hear him as he fell twice before making his way to the top landing. Harry stood still in his place as he heard the footsteps make their way to his door and stop. Seconds later, his door was swinging open, and the light was flicked on.

"Hey, boy!" His uncle shouted gleefully, a sloppy smile adorning his fat, wet-looking lips. "Gues_sh_ wha' Uncle Vernon brough' home for _you _today!" Vernon swayed dangerously in the doorway as he shoved his index finger in the direction of Harry to punctuate the word "you", before he steadied himself in the doorframe and stumbled forward into the room, slamming Harry's door shut behind him. He messily brought a dark brown bottle up to his lips and slurped noisily from it, though most of the foul-smelling alcohol ended up on the front of him rather than in his stomach.

Harry watched in horror as his uncle approached him unsteadily. He was like a deer in headlights; his muscles refused to move and it was as if his feet were moulded to the floor.

"C'mon, boy! Gues_sh_!"

Harry's eyes widened as his uncle took a large step towards him, lurching as he tripped over the previously-disposed-of tray that stood in his path. He let out a loud shriek as he hit the floor, cursing at Harry.

"You li'l fu'king bastard! U_sh_ing your magic to trip me and what-not! You will be puni_sh_ed! Come 'ere, you li'l bastard! I'll _sh_ow _you _who'_sh_ got the wand in this family!"

Harry screeched as Vernon grabbed his ankle and yanked, causing Harry to sprawl on his back on the hard wooden floor. "No!" He cried out as his uncle pushed himself up to his knees in between Harry's trembling legs. Harry could only guess what was coming, but still he struggled. "Please, no!"

"But you're being puni_sh_ed, boy! If I don't do it now, it'll only be ten time_sh_ wor_sh_e later!" His uncle shouted, his voice regaining its gleeful quality of earlier.

"No!" Harry continued to scream his protests as his uncle violently ripped off his pants and undergarments, flinging them across the room. Vernon took his time fumbling drunkenly with his belt, pinning Harry down by his chest, using one of his unoccupied knees.

Harry's lungs felt as though they were being squashed. His struggling stopped immediately as he began to feel light headed. With one final squeak, a protesting "No!", Harry was silent, but his eyes remained open and slightly un-focused (He still was not wearing his glasses because of the no-longer-broken but still painful nose), and he was forced to watch as his sickeningly fat uncle rammed his dick into his arse repeatedly. All the while a mantra of, "No, no, please no, I'll do anything," repeated in his head. Little did he know that he was saying it out loud, as well.

…

…

…

Dudley Dursley lay awake in his bedroom, listening to the sound of his cousin being raped by his father. He felt disgusted, but refused to leave his room for fear of what he may see, lest his uncle had not remembered to shut Harry's door completely and planned on giving the family a free show. Of course, he knew his mother was still awake, and she was probably listening as well as Harry repeatedly cried out "No! Please, no!". All of a sudden, Harry's cries stopped, and he heard his father grunt as he reached what Dudley could only believe was orgasm.

Minutes later, he heard Harry's door creak open and then shut loudly, the slam ringing through the whole house. If he and his mother had been asleep, that slam would surely have woken the both of them, but as it was, Dudley flinched at the sound and remained in his bed.

Petunia, however, had raced to the bathroom connecting to her bedroom almost immediately after Harry's cries had begun…and vomited into the toilet. Who would have ever thought it possible for her Vernon, _her loving husband and her only son's father_, could be so could as to rape a helpless child. That was what Harry was; a child. He would always be a child, but now all of his innocence had been ripped from him in a single night. How was he ever going to defeat a dark lord now?

He was no longer clean; no one would ever look at him the same. He could not save the muggle world, and if he couldn't even do that, Petunia was sure that Harry could not save the Wizarding world. And another thing Petunia was sure of was that it was entirely Harry's fault.

Vernon, of course, could not be blamed for his actions. He was a loving man; he was a loving husband, and a loving father. Harry had initiated it, and for that, Petunia would never forgive him. She still owed him her protection; her sister had risked her life for her, and Harry had been the result, and for that, Petunia would forever be in her debt. But for Harry to come on to her husband was unforgivable.

Petunia vowed that she would get back at Harry for turning her husband dark. She would stop at nothing to exact her revenge. And if she hadn't owed her sister a life-debt, she may have even murdered the young man that still lay in his room, broken, bloodied and utterly alone.

…

…

…

…

**A/N: **I've decided to post this chapter early. Review and tell me what you think! And if you didn't read the warnings and such at the beginning, please do so. I don't want to disgust anyone, but there are ample warnings. If you decide not to heed them, do not complain to me about the content of my fic. I will not listen.

**The title _may _be subject to change, just to warn anyone and everyone. **


	2. Just a Dream

**Disclaimer**: See previous chapters.

**Warnings**: Same applies. Slightly OOC Dudley.

**Response to reviews: **Wow, I'm glad that this fic has gotten so much attention. I'm glad everyone likes it, and here are a few people that I'd like to reply to.

_cyn -- _Thank you for your honest review! I love it when people actually put what they think instead of sugar-coating it. I especially liked the way you critiqued Aunt Petunia. I'm glad that someone did so; it helps me to know how to portray the characters when I know what my readers think.

I understand that Aunt Petunia was acting like she had two different personalities, and I put it in there on purpose, but I wasn't quite sure how to go from one to the other. There's this side of Petunia that I believe really cares about Harry, but Vernon holds her back from it. She was accepting of the fact that her husband came home late after a drunken escapade, and even though she kicked him out, it's his home, and she has a certain loyalty to him that she can't break, even though she knows what he did was wrong. (Kind of like the loyalty of a DE to Voldemort.)

So she somehow finds a way to bend the blame around and put it all on Harry, as Vernon has taught her to do over the years. And then there's the fact that she was absolutely jealous of Lily, so she feels a bit of resentment towards Harry because he has some abilities that she was denied. Of course, this is just how I see the characters, and you may see them completely differently. I hope that answers some of your questions. If you review again, just do what you did this time! I love honest reviews, and the opinions of the readers really matter to me. To me, your ramblings weren't ramblings at all; they've helped me even out a few things that I wasn't sure about, so thanks!

_JoeyCat (Joana) --_ I'm sorry you were outraged, but at least I know that you'll be coming back to read more, right? I don't have any more chapters written, because I honestly hadn't planned on posting this fic so early. But now that I know the response from everyone, I couldn't possibly leave you all hanging, so I believe I'll update at _least _once a week on this fic. On my other fic, I'll still update often, but I'm not quite sure _how _often.

A big thanks to everyone else who has reviewed so far. (hina, thrnbrooke, Banner, Katelynn, Jujube15, animegurl088, kozie, GlenWing, paddy, draco8448, laura lu, greeneyes, cyn, and Joana.)

**Chapter Two**

**Just a Dream**

Harry lay there on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. '_This did not happen. I'm going to open my eyes, and this will all have been a dream. It's okay,' _Harry breathed deeply as he tried to reassure himself. '_I'm okay. I just…I just fell out of bed, that's all. It was just a dream. Just a dream…'_

But the pain in his lower half refused to diminish; the ever-present throb and the warmth and stickiness that accompanied it let Harry know that he was bleeding, and Harry knew that the fact that he had been raped would not go away, no matter how much he tried to pretend that it hadn't happened.

_It's my fault._ Harry realized with a shudder as he rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around himself in a painfully tight embrace. He lay on his side, curled up into a ball, and as his thoughts flew through his head, he began to shiver; whether from the cold of the hard, bare floor, or from the guilt and shame that would now accompany him wherever he went, Harry didn't know. '_It's my fault he's done this, and he'll do it again. If I had just blocked off all mail, then-'_

One of Harry's inner voices cut in right then, but it was cold and distant, where it had once been constant and reassuring. -**You didn't know she'd send mail the muggle way. You had no way of knowing.-**

Harry shook his head almost violently as the first tears began to fall. They were sweltering hot, but they felt cleansing. '_My fault…my fault…' _Harry's insistence that it was his fault pushed the reassuring voice deeper into his mind until it stopped trying to comfort him. Then he was left alone with his cold thoughts, being eaten alive by the guilt, and buried beneath the shame. And his tears continued to fall.

…

…

…

The sun was coming up, and Harry still lay on the floor, in the same position he had been in when he had begun to cry, and in the same position he had been in when the tears had finally stopped descending and his face had hardened in resolve.

Hedwig still had not come back, but that was to be expected. She always spent some extra time at the Weasley's, and she always came back well-nourished, which was more than Harry could say she was when he sent her to them. And besides, it had only been a day. There was nothing to worry about yet…right?

And yet Harry had a gut feeling that everything was not okay; as a matter of fact, the roiling in his stomach and the disgruntling feeling that something terribly, terribly wrong was going on would not remove itself from Harry's person.

Rolling back onto his back, Harry could hardly even notice the pain that was in his back-side anymore, though to a normal person it would still have been something for them to worry about. But of course, he was Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived to save the Wizarding World. He was _not _a normal person.

But perhaps the reason he didn't feel the pain wasn't because he was the Boy Who Lived; no, it was more likely that Harry had gotten used to the pain in the short amount of time since Vernon Dursley had left his room. As a matter of fact, Harry _was _feeling rather numb right about now…Of course, he didn't notice this. He hardly noticed anything, even as the door to his bedroom slowly crept open on its hinges, barely making a noise as Dudley stuck his fat head in to check on Harry, as he had been instructed to by his mother.

"Harry?" Dudley asked softly, a look of worry stretching over his face as he saw the spread-eagled position Harry lay in. "Are…are you okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said, voice dull and void of any emotion. "Yeah, just chipper. Couldn't be better, really." Harry's gaze returned to the ceiling, and Dudley raised both of his thick blonde eyebrows.

"Um…are you sure?"

Harry's eyes crept towards Dudley slowly, and when their eyes finally met, a chill chased down Dudley's spine at the look of dismal despair that lay deeply imbedded into Harry's very soul. His eyes were no longer as bright as they once had been, held barely any fire at all. They had lost their usual luster; they didn't look human by any means. Rather, they looked like a doll's eyes; void of any and all emotion that could possibly link him in any way to any _type _of humanity.

Harry gave a swift nod, inclining his head only once, before he moved his eyes to look back up at the ceiling.

"Uh…are you hungry?" Dudley asked, stalling to see if there was any serious damage to Harry's being.

Harry shook his head, his gaze never wavering from its position. "Dad…dad's not here."

Harry flinched at the mention of the foul creature that still had the gall to call himself father. "I'm not hungry, Dudley." He snapped.

"You…you sure?"

Harry sighed. "Just go away, okay?"

Dudley looked Harry over worriedly. "Do you…want to leave? You can go to…uh…a friend's house, if you want."

Harry finally drew his eyes away from the ceiling to half glare at his cousin, before bitterly asking, "What friends?"

"Uh…you know, the ones from your…school." Dudley was really starting to regret all the times he had teased and beat on Harry. Harry was proving to be less trusting the further they got into conversation, as though he believed that Dudley was going to jump him at any moment.

"I don't have friends." Harry said, lips curling into a sneer.

Dudley's brow furrowed in thought, and he looked at Harry curiously. "You should at least come down for breakfast. Mum says you haven't eaten for nearly four days. Besides, today's your birthday."

Harry blinked. "And I suppose you've made me a cake and all that, and even went out and got me presents, yeah?"

Dudley shook his head. "No. Usually that's your…er…friends' job."

Harry snorted. "I've told you," He said, eyes trailing back to the ceiling. "I've got no friends."

Dudley decided not to push the subject. He wondered what had happened between Harry and his friends to cause him to disown them, but didn't dare ask. Of course he knew that Harry had been receiving gifts from his friends on his birthdays, but by the time he found the stash, it was time for Harry to go to school, so he never had been able to bust him. And then there was the fact that the goods were hidden in different places every year. Now he regretted ever trying.

"Well," Dudley said, stepping fully into the room, hands shoved deeply into his pockets. "You're seventeen now. You're legally of age. I suppose you're happy that you can perform magic…er…legally now, yeah?"

Harry sighed. "Not until after I graduate, I can't." He said glumly. "That should make you and your sodding family happy, at least. I can't jinx you quite yet without getting my wand broken."

Dudley blinked. He was, of course, still frightened of Harry, but after being rescued from the Dementor that he hadn't even been able to see that night two years ago, his respect for his cousin had grown immensely. And he had matured since then. "I…uh…sorry. That you still can't do magic, I mean. But…this is your last year at that school, right?"

Harry nodded, his movement barely noticeable.

"Dudley! Breakfast!" Petunia called from the bottom of the stairs, and Dudley jumped in surprise.

"Uh…you sure you're not hungry?"

Harry nodded again, and Dudley sighed before turning and leaving the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

As Dudley trod down the stairs, he couldn't help but feeling sorry for the broken boy that lay up in his room, still and staring at nothingness. He wondered what could possibly be going through Harry's mind at a time like this. He wondered if Harry blamed himself, and he wondered if everything he had learned about rape victims were true. He certainly hoped not.

Petunia greeted her son like she did every day. She patted his hair down, kissed his cheek softly, and led him into the kitchen, talking about the weather and the school supplies that they still needed to buy. She noticed that her son was unusually withdrawn today, but overlooked it as a lack of sleep. Harry had been awfully noisy the prior night, it was no wonder her precious little Dudders was out of it.

Smiling warmly at her son, she placed a heaping bowl of porridge in front of him. Usually when Dudley noticed he was having porridge for breakfast, he put up a fight, but today, he just glanced at it, asked his mother to pass the sugar, and began to eat. Petunia was worried.

Meanwhile, Harry had yet to move from the floor. A loud tapping at his window brought him out of his musings of suicide for the time being, and he glanced up in time to see Hedwig soar into his room. "Hedwig!" Harry exclaimed, sitting up and ignoring his body's protests.

A short letter was tied to Hedwig's leg, and Harry eyed it hopefully. Hedwig held her leg out for him, and Harry quickly untied the note. Reaching into his pocket for the owl treats he normally kept there, he sighed when he realized that he had none left; they had al fallen out of his pockets the day his uncle had beat the living daylights out of him in the kitchen. They were probably long gone now.

He shook his head sadly at Hedwig, and she nipped at his finger understandingly before hopping up to the window ledge and flying out again. Harry sighed as he unfolded the note.

He couldn't believe what it said.

_Very funny, Harry. If you hadn't shown up for the party, I probably would have believed you, too. Did you write this before you went, because you didn't plan on going? Well, anyways, happy birthday. We already gave you your presents, so I don't see reason to give you anything else. Anyways, how has your summer been? (Seriously! Don't play pranks on us like that, do you know how worried we could have been if you hadn't shown up?) Sorry we didn't get to talk much, but you know how things are in relationships. Ron's a beast, I swear. I'm glad you can come to the burrow tomorrow, we all look forward to seeing you. We have a lot of things to tell you! Did you know, Fred and George plan on opening a second shop over in Hogsmeade! Isn't that great? We can go and visit them and everything! I think they're putting someone else in charge of their other shop in Diagon Alley, though. They can't be two places at once. Maybe we can talk them into working separately. I don't know. Well, Arthur will be by at seven to pick you up, so be ready! And don't forget your trunk, you probably won't be going back for it. _

_Hermione_

Harry gaped down at the letter. _'How could she not believe me?' _He thought. _'I'm not the kind of person to pull that kind of prank! Ugh! Maybe when she sees me tomorrow, she'll have to believe me.' _Even though the thought wasn't quite as comforting as Harry would have liked it to be, he sighed and stood, deciding to go down to breakfast and break the good news to his 'family.'

"You're what! You didn't even ask permission!"

"I'm legally of age! I don't have to."

"So long as you're living under _this _roof, boy, you will ask permission before going _anywhere_!" Harry glared heatedly at his aunt, challenging her to do something about it. Relenting, his aunt glared back at him.

"But thank god we'll never have to see your ugly face again." With a smug smile, she walked over to the stove and made up a plate for Harry. (Which was much smaller than Dudley's. But of course, that's how things always went. Harry didn't know why he expected for it to be any different.)

When they were finished eating, Harry sat back and sighed, looking up at the ceiling, which appeared blurry before his eyes, because his nose was still throbbing and the swelling probably wouldn't be down for at least another few days. "You!" His aunt shrieked, and Harry jumped in surprise.

"Go up to your room! Vernon will be bringing your Aunt Marge home in a couple of hours, and we do not wish to see you at all. We expect you to leave quietly tomorrow, and in the mean-time, we do not wish to know that you are here, understood? And you tell those…_people_…of yours that they are to pick you up the normal way! I will not have my living room blown to bits like the last time!"

Harry nodded and left the room, collapsing on his bed as soon as the door to his own room was securely shut behind him. His face buried in his hands, he sighed and rubbed his eyes warily. '_Soon,'_ He thought to himself reassuringly. _'I'll be leaving soon. He won't try anything if Marge is here. I have nothing to worry about.'_

Harry had no clue just how wrong he was.

…

…

…

It was late into the night, and Harry was sure that everyone was asleep. He had heard his uncle and Aunt Marge coming home at least four hours ago, and had even heard his uncle tromp up to bed, so he was pretty sure that at least _he _was asleep.

When Hedwig had flown back into his room, he had sent her off immediately with a letter to Hermione, asking her to have Arthur pick him up in a car, perhaps a flying one, that way his home wouldn't be blown up again. Hedwig had come back just an hour ago, and was perched contentedly in her cage, eyes closed, on top of Harry's now-packed trunk, awaiting the next day when they would both be whisked away.

Harry was lying on his back in his bed, staring, once again, at the ceiling, mulling over thoughts that he wasn't sure were even his own. He didn't hear the door to his bedroom opening, or the soft click of the lock when someone locked it from the inside.

"What's this I hear about you leaving tomorrow, huh boy?" The voice was soft and deadly, and the eyes of the person the voice belonged to glinted with a barely suppressed furry.

Harry blinked up at his looming uncle like a dear caught in the headlights. His mouth was glued shut and had suddenly gone very dry, and his limbs started shaking of their own accord. He was completely and utterly scared.

"Are you too good for this family, then? Is that it? We don't deserve you? Well, I'll tell you something," Vernon climbed slowly, predatorily onto Harry's small twin bed. "You are nothing but a selfish, disgusting _freak_! You will never amount to anything. Nothing! You hear me?" The words were whispered, but they had the same amount of force as if they had been screamed at the top of Vernon Dursley's lungs.

Harry's breath caught in his throat and his heart started pounding harder in his fear. "Turn over, boy. You have a lesson to learn."

Harry shook his head violently, trying to crawl away from his uncle but having little luck. Vernon grasped Harry's ankle and yanked, flipping Harry over onto his stomach harshly, knocking the air out of Harry.

"Do not disobey me, boy. You will only make it worse."

"No, stop it! Quit!" Harry yelled, and Vernon shot him a murderous look.

"Shut up!" He whispered viciously, landing a hard punch to Harry's shoulder. Harry groaned in pain as his whole right limb went numb. "You will not yell in this house, especially when everyone is asleep! Use your inside voice, or suffer the consequences."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. '_Only a dream, this is only a dream.'_ The thought repeated itself in his mind as yet again his pants were ripped brutally from his being and tossed aside, the shreds no longer wearable. _'Only a dream, this is only a dream.'_ The thought continued again as his shirt was also ripped from his body and tossed into a heap on top of his pants. He was now left only in his underwear.

'_Only a dream, this is only a dream.' _He could hear the clinking of a belt as it was undone and the sound of it being pulled from the loops of his uncle's pants. Seconds later, he could feel the leather of the belt whipping forcefully against his back, leaving large welts. He could feel some start bleeding, and tears formed in his eyes as he realized that Vernon was yanking his own pants down.

They began streaming as Vernon entered him brutally from behind. The fact that there was no lubrication only served to make the pain that much worse, and Harry cried out before he could stop himself. The sharp whack of the belt on his back immediately cut off the noise. "Shut up," His uncle grunted as he pulled out swiftly, only to push viciously back into Harry's abused body.

"Please stop," Harry whispered, though he knew it was useless. "Please."

The cruel laughter that met his ears caused him to flinch as he was thrust into again, more violent than the last. Vernon was coming closer to the edge. Harry groaned in pain and wished desperately for his uncle to finish and just leave him alone.

"Oh, you like that, do you freak? Does it turn you on? I knew you were a queer." His voice was filled with malice as he thrust once more into Harry's prone body. When Vernon came, he violently slammed Harry's head against the wall, effectively knocking him unconscious. One word seemed to echo in Harry's mind, even though he wasn't conscious to hear it. '_Freak_!'

…

…

…

Vernon grunted as he yanked his pants up and put the belt back through the loops. He glared hatefully down at Harry before walking to the door. One hate-filled glance later, the light was flicked off, and the door was quietly shut, leaving Harry to bleed alone on his bed.

Vernon sighed in pleasure as he lowered himself into the bed he shared with Petunia. "Did you have a nice shower, dear?" She asked, turning around to embrace him.

"Quite." Vernon said with a small smile directed towards his wife. "And what made it all the better was the fact that that wretched boy will be leaving once and for all tomorrow." He trailed his hand slowly down Petunia's spine and smiled seductively at her. "Actually, the thought of him leaving makes me quite randy. Think we could have a go?"

Petunia smiled at him and moved quickly to straddle him.

…

…

…

Dudley glared at the wall to his room, where he could hear his parents doing the nasty in the room right next to his. It was times like this he wished that he could be magic, that way he could make them either stop or he could put up a silencing charm so that he wouldn't have to hear them in action.

He sighed when the pounding on the wall finally died down, and closed his eyes when he heard his father say good night to his mother. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning, though, and Dudley knew that it was useless to try to go to sleep. Standing and stretching, he glanced at his clock once more before quietly sneaking down the stairs and to the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, he pulled out various items of food and trudged quietly back up to his room. Once he was at his bedroom door, he had to face the fact that it was closed, and it would take quite some effort to open it without causing any ruckus or dropping any of his food. Sighing, he put down a couple of plates, and just as he was turning the knob of his own door, he could hear the door across from his own creaking slowly open.

Curiously, Dudley peeked into Harry's room. The sight that greeted him was not a pleasant one. Harry was on his knees, face buried in the pillow. He was completely naked and bleeding profusely from many open gashes on his back. His position looked very uncomfortable, but what drew Dudley's eyes was the large puddle of blood that was pooling on the otherwise white pillow that his head rested on.


	3. Recovery

**Disclaimer**: See previous chapters.

**Warnings**: Same applies. This chapter is sort of a filler; Arthur comes to the rescue in the next chapter.

**Response to reviews:**

_Cyn: _It's okay, I think I'm starting to like Dudley too. _:Author grins madly: _

_Greeneyes: _"…_why didn't she notice what Harry's note was written in--isn't dried blood pretty obviously blood_?" Hermione is under the impression that Harry is trying to fool her into thinking that he's abused at home; she may be the smartest out of the trio, but Harry is persistent, and she believes that he would go to any lengths to fool them. (Of course, Harry has no reason to fool them into believing such things. But you must remember that he wants to get out of the Dursleys' home, and may go to any lengths to do so.) _:wink:_

_Hippogriffluvr: _Sorry about the cliff-hanger…I'll try to restrain myself this time; I hate them, too. I knew I shouldn't have put it there…sorry!

_PaddycakePadfoot: _I _think _haggy is a word…I don't know, I'll have to look into that…oh well, I agree…Petunia _is _a haggy woman! _:hehe: _Thanks for your review!

Thanks to all others who have reviewed! (_Annie W. M, ShellyD1982, Suzhoops, Vudu, thrnbrooke, Stacey Jo, Brittany, Kates, Alison, Redbat, Leader of the 'track down Peter Pettigrew and kill him in a horrible way' hunting squad, Fox Loves Shinigami, cyn, greeneyes, Hippogriffluvr and PaddycakePadfoot_.)

**Chapter Three**

**Recovery**

Dudley entered the room cautiously, eyes never leaving Harry's unmoving form. "Harry?" As he approached the bed, Harry groaned and fell onto his side, face towards Dudley. "Oh, my God. Harry! Are you okay?" Dudley asked in a whisper, so as not to be caught aiding the "enemy", as his father had dubbed Harry just the summer before.

Harry had a deep gash on his forehead, just over his lightening-bolt shaped scar, spanning across most of his forehead, slanted in a diagonal direction and bleeding profusely.

Harry blinked blearily, and flinched away from Dudley when he reached out to see how bad the gash really was; it was bleeding so much that he couldn't even see the original wound through all the blood. "Harry, let me see it. I need to know if we need to get you stitched up."

Harry gulped, his cracked lips unable to form words as he squinted up at Dudley, naked and ashamed. Dudley reached to his forehead once more, and Harry reflexively pulled away. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not like him. What he's done to you…it's disgusting! I would never do something like this to you. Never."

Harry eyed him, distrust showing clearly in his clouded jade eyes. But this time when Dudley reached out to him, he forced himself to not pull away.

Dudley brushed Harry's hair to the side and looked at the gash with distaste. "He did this to you, didn't he?"

Harry's eyes darkened and he tried to pull away again, but Dudley held him in place by placing one hand on Harry's bare bicep. With a sigh, Dudley pulled away and walked to the dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. "Here, put these on. I'll be back in a second to clean that wound up. Don't touch it, all right? I think it needs stitches." Dudley grimaced as he left the room, his late-night (or early morning, depending on how you looked at it) snack now completely ruined.

He went into the bathroom next door to his own bedroom and started pulling out the healing supplies that he thought might be needed for Harry, and when he was sure he had them all, he went back to Harry's room. "I don't think-" He trailed off when he noticed that Harry had barely moved an inch since he had last been in the room, and had yet to dress himself. "Harry?"

Harry looked up at him, tears gleaming in his eyes. Dudley shot him a questioning look, and Harry looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Harry, are…you're not…um…" Dudley trailed off and sighed, looking at Harry with pity and sorrow in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Harry glared at him. "Leave me alone!" He rasped, sitting up even though all of the muscles in his body were screaming in protest. One tear trailed down his cheek as he forced his body into a sitting position; the pain in his head was nearly unbearable, but was nothing compared to the pain in his arse. It was as though he was slowly being ripped apart from the inside out, and he could do nothing to stop it. "Go away!" _'I don't want you to see me like this! I'm not vulnerable! I'm _not_!' _He added in his head.

"I'm just trying to hel-"

"I don't need it! Just leave!" Harry grated out, cutting Dudley off.

"Look-"

"Go!" Harry said, letting out a soft yelp as he fell over and onto his back, no longer able to stand the pain in his body. But landing on his back was not a good idea; pain erupted immediately from the shallow gashes on his spine, causing the edges of his vision to become first blurry and then black. He felt dizzy and immediately rolled over onto his stomach, a few more tears flowing unchecked from his eyes.

"Just let me-"

"I can dress myself," Harry said bitterly as a few more tears fell from his eyes.

"Fine," Dudley said, frustrated. "I'll just leave this here for you then." He raised the small red kit in his hand to show Harry what he had, stepped towards the bed, deposited the kit on it, and immediately stepped away. "You, uh…you know where I am if you need…er…any…um…help. Okay?"

Harry attempted to glare at him but it only came out as a wince. Dudley sighed sadly and left the room, softly shutting the door behind him.

Harry watched Dudley leave. When he was completely sure that the door was shut and Dudley wasn't there, he collapsed, sobs emitting from his open mouth freely, shoulders shaking uncontrollably and his eyes clenched shut tightly.

When the sobs finally slowed and he was left with a stuffed up nose and watery eyes, Harry glanced at the medical kit that Dudley had left behind. Curiosity overtaking him, Harry reached out for it, and cracked the lid open carefully. Inside there was peroxide and other antiseptics, wet wipes, tissue, gauze and bandages, medical tapes, and even a mirror.

Harry reached for the mirror, and winced at the image of himself that he saw in it. Blood was trailing in thin trails down his face, and a thick trail of it was making a slow path right down the center of his nose, which was beginning to sting slightly where it had been broken previously.

The pillow, which Harry had previously noticed was wet, was not wet only with blood, but also with sweat. It was rather disgusting, really. There wasn't much blood on it, but there was a medium-sized puddle where he had been laying while in an unconscious state, and the puddle had soaked into the pillow, staining the whole thing (or at least most of it) a dark crimson color, making the puddle appear to be much larger than it really was; it, obviously, was no longer salvageable.

Harry glanced back at his reflection, then winced. The laceration on his forehead truly was a deep one, and would probably cause minimal scaring, at best, but it looked to be the type of cut to cause a large amount of scaring, and Harry had now come to hate scars because of a certain one that had brought on his fame. Not knowing where to begin, but also knowing that he had to soon, or else the wound may get infected, Harry reached for the wet wipes first.

Not wanting to start at the cut, Harry first decided to clean up his appearance a bit, by wiping the trails of blood off of his face and the blood from around the wound. The rest of his body was still killing him, but he managed to ignore it for a while as he tended to his needs.

Five wet wipes later, his face was mostly blood-free, with the exception of the stains left from the blood that had dried before he got the chance to clean it up and the blood still leaking from the deep gash on his forehead. Harry didn't look forward to tackling that, as he was sure it would really hurt. But he could feel himself going light-headed, and he didn't know if it was from the pain in the rest of his body, pain like he had never endured before, or if it was from the loss of blood. Yanking out a handful of wet wipes, Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he dabbed gingerly at the cut. The pain that met him wasn't immediate, but it was there nonetheless, and only got worse as the cleaning of the wound progressed. Harry sorely wished that he hadn't asked Dudley to go away, because he wasn't sure he would be able to do it himself.

Harry really wasn't looking forward to using the peroxide, but knew that it had to be done; he also knew that there was only so much pain a human could endure, and he greatly hoped that he wasn't coming too close to the line. He didn't want to pass out before he got his wound patched up, or else it could get worse.

Taking a tissue and dipping it in the peroxide, Harry took a deep breath before going for the plunge. The stinging sensation only lasted for a few moments before it all went away. _'Well, this isn't as bad as Dudley always made it out to be_,' Harry thought to himself. Harry, though he had been a rather clumsy little boy, had never hurt himself enough to need the stinging anti-infectant. Either that, or the Dursleys were just too stingy to spare any for him.

Looking in the mirror, Harry could see that even though he had used the peroxide, the cut hadn't stopped bleeding. _'Of course, you git!_' Harry scolded himself. _'It's not magic! It can only do so much.' _Harry glared at his reflection as he taped a linen bandage to the cut on his forehead. Patting it softly and ignoring the pain that spread through his forehead every time he touched it, Harry put the mirror back in the kit and lay back on his bed, also ignoring the pain of the gashes on his back, though they really did hurt badly.

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, in, out, in, out once more, concentrating on making the pain go away; it was becoming a little hard to ignore by that point. But then, Harry realized that the pain wasn't as bad as it had been before. Actually, it was rather comforting. Harry blinked at the revelation. The pain made him feel like he was alive; let him know that there was actually substance to this hellish reality that was his life. It confused Harry to no end that he wasn't as disturbed by his pain as he had been in the past, but he welcomed it nonetheless.

Harry blinked again and sighed, lifting the boxers that Dudley had thrown at him and pulling them on. He couldn't stand, and he just barely managed to pull the boxers on, his arse throbbing in pain at the contact. Harry decided to just go shirtless; it would be much easier on him, not to mention that the room was actually awfully hot, and Harry didn't want to sweat to death. Harry leaned back and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep and forget the entire incident.

Seconds after Harry had allowed his eyes to slide closed to blissfully welcome the oblivion that was looming, the door to Harry's room was opened swiftly and shut silently. Dudley stood, staring at Harry and panting slightly. "Harry," Dudley gasped out, back pressed against the door heavily as he wheezed for breath. "I just remembered," He paused to take deep gulps of air into his lungs and to wet his lips, before beginning again. "The cuts on your back. They need to be cleaned; you can't do it yourself."

Harry's eyes popped open, and he looked at Dudley in surprise as he sat up to greet him with a stare. Dudley returned his gaze, once again wetting his lips with his large tongue, his beady eyes gleaming. "Uh…no, I'm okay," Harry said softly, voice cracking. "I think they've stopped bleeding." Of course, that was a lie, but Harry was desperate for the feeling of reality that came along with the pain, and he was reluctant to have the new perceptions go away after he had just discovered them.

"They can't have!" Dudley exclaimed indignantly. "They were bleeding badly when I last came in here, and that can't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes ago!"

Harry shot Dudley a meaningful look, but Dudley was either very thick, or he truly hadn't seen it. "Here, let me have a look," Dudley said, stepping closer to Harry. Harry flinched away.

"No!" He burst out, then looked down at his hands. "I mean, I'm fine. You don't have to."

"But-"

"No, really," Harry assured, looking deeply into Dudley's eyes to prove his point. "I…I just need to get some rest, that's all. I'll be leaving tomorrow, you know. I can't let them see me like this."

"But Harry, you can't even walk! You can't tell me-"

"Dudley, I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it, I really do. But I don't need your help."

Dudley looked put out, but nodded and reluctantly left the room. Harry sighed in relief and lay back down, the gashes on his back throbbing slightly as the clots that had formed while he had been sitting up were rubbed off against the now completely blood-soaked sheets.

It was surprising how quickly the pain became familiar to Harry. Harry smiled softly as the pain intensified as he rubbed against the sheets again, and he was lulled into sleep by the tingling feeling that emitted from the cuts that were sure to leave scars on his back.

…

…

…

Harry blinked lazily and rolled over, wondering confusedly at the way the sheets were stickily clinging to his back. He also wondered where the pain in his back had come from. And when he noticed the sun shining brightly through his bedroom window, he wondered minutely why his aunt had let him sleep in so late.

He blinked blearily to clear his eyes and raised his hand to feel his scar, which was throbbing for some reason, and his eyes shot open wide when his hand came into contact with the thin gauze that was covering a majority of his forehead. "Wha'?" Harry asked himself, licking his dry lips and sitting up, setting his askew glasses straight on his face. Pain rippled through his lower half as he sat on it, and Harry winced as the memories of the night before came back to him in a blaze of pain and angrily grunted threats and insults. Harry pressed a hand to his temple and let out a nearly inaudible moan, eyes closed and cracked lips parted slightly. "Please, not again." He groaned to himself, refusing to open his eyes and acknowledge the painfully obvious facts.

One hand found it's way to Harry's eyes and covered them, massaging slightly to relieve the pain behind his lids. When he lifted his hand away and slowly cracked his eyes open, the light that filtered into the room almost immediately blinded him. Harry groaned as he looked at the clock on his bedside table; one o'clock PM. Petunia really had let him sleep late. Harry wondered why. Then he remembered.

He was leaving today, and she didn't want to see him at all for the remainder of his stay. Harry sighed, thankful to whatever God that had decided to have a fraction of pity for him.

Standing on shaky legs, Harry made his unsteady way to Hedwig's cage. "Hey, girl." he whispered. "We'll be leaving soon! Don't worry." Harry smiled softly at her as he held out his finger to her in order to receive her affectionate nip. Harry reached into a drawer of the dresser behind him and pulled out a dead mouse, one of the many that he had decided to spitefully leave behind, and opened the door of Hedwig's cage in order to give it to her.

Hedwig hooted thankfully at him as she swallowed her lunch, then nipped lovingly at his finger once more before tucking her head beneath her wing and falling into a light nap. Harry stared at her for a few minutes, thankful for the support she continued to show for him, even though she couldn't talk. Harry smiled softly at the companionship he shared with the snowy owl.

It was when he was about to walk away from Hedwig's cage that he noticed the bloodied sheets. When they had once been white, they were now almost brown with nearly-dried blood. Harry could feel his stomach lurch and he quickly closed his eyes. He felt disgusted and disgusting at the same time, as he willed his stomach to get a hold of itself, and instructed the bile that had already worked it's way up his throat back down the way it had come. Breathing in deeply, Harry turned around and refused to look at the proof of what had happened the night before.

His memory was broken up, and he only remembered bits of what had happened. But the fact that there was blood all over the bed, and even some on the floor, proved to Harry what he otherwise could have denied. He had been raped, _again_, and no one was going to believe him, no matter what he tried to tell them. Even the physical proof wouldn't be enough for them. Where Harry had once prided his friends on their smarts, Harry now cursed them. They were so smart that sometimes they could be thick with their so-called knowledge.

Harry laughed bitterly at the fact that Hermione hadn't even been able to tell that it was blood that he had written his letter in and not a new red-colored ink. And knowing how head-over-heels in love Ron was with Hermione, Ron had probably hung on her every word, and wouldn't believe anything that Harry had to say to him. But what worried Harry most was the fact that someone had posed as him.

It didn't even bother him that the person had taken his birthday presents; he had lived with the Dursleys long enough to know that he should never expect something for his birthdays, but it was particularly heartbreaking that his friends hadn't realized that it hadn't actually been him that had taken their carefully thought out gifts.

Harry sighed. Mulling over these things would not get anything figured out. Besides, Arthur would be coming to get him soon, and he could go over these things with him then. He didn't need to go over them now, all alone. It would only get him worked up, and that was definitely something that Harry _didn't _want to be, especially when Arthur came to his rescue.

The only thing left to do now was wait. Waiting was really not something that Harry did well. Even after all that had happened to him, deep down he was still the same person he had ever been; he was just wounded a bit on the top. But maybe the incidents of the summer would finally teach him not to be so trusting all the time. And maybe it would help him to get inside the mind of Voldemort (not literally speaking, of course, though that would have been nice as well).

Harry couldn't help but feel that now that he had had a taste of real darkness, and not the madness that Voldemort tried to portray as darkness, he would be able to fully understand it now. And maybe, even though it probably hadn't been the reason Vernon had done it in the first place, it would help Harry to defeat Voldemort once and for all.


	4. Rescue

**Response to Reviews: **Wow, a lot of people reviewed this time! I'm amazed, thank you all for all of your awesome compliments; keep 'em coming!

_Thrnbrooke: "I wouldn't be surprised if his "gifts" turned up at Hogwarts so he had "proof" he was at the party." _Good way to be thinking, but Hogwarts is a little ways away; they probably won't get there for at least another two or three chapters. But you never know; maybe they will. _:wink:_

_FallenMadness88: _Wish granted; no more suffering! At least…not for this chapter…

No one heard Vernon whipping Harry because they tuned it out, I suppose. Of course, on a subconscious level, they probably knew what was happening, but they chose to ignore it. I'm flattered that you love my stories; I love your reviews to no end as well!

Thank you to all others who have reviewed; I cannot thank you enough! You all give me motivation to keep this fic alive. (_Hippogriffluver, PaddycakePadfoot, Susan Hoopman, Draco8448, GlenWing, Alexander, scully, Alison, yaoigirl626, Thrnbrooke, and FallenMadness88_.)

_Sorry for the late post, but from now on I should be posting regularly on the weekends._

**Chapter Four**

**Rescue**

Harry stared up at his ceiling dejectedly. There were still four hours until the big rescue, and even after all that had happened to Harry, he still felt incredibly bored. Of course, although he knew that he should feel something different from what he was currently feeling, something along the lines of depression or _something_, he was in a state where he could actually feel almost nothing at all. Confused and a little annoyed with himself at the turn of his thoughts, Harry frowned and sat up, staring around his nearly-empty room to double-check and see if he had left anything unpacked.

The wound on his forehead throbbed slightly, and Harry frowned a little more as his eyes scanned the room, which was pretty much bare except for the furniture that had been provided for him. Harry sighed and glared at his pile of odds and ends that would never again see this room. For about the hundredth time that day, Harry strongly wished that he could perform magic while out of school, because shrinking his luggage and taking it with him would be a whole lot faster than waiting for Arthur to shrink his luggage for him.

…

…

…

Draco Malfoy smirked proudly at his reflection as he spelled the rest of his glamour charm away. His hair faded from that of the darkest of blacks to his own pale golden locks in a matter of seconds. "Well done, Draco," He said to his reflection with a widening smirk. He looked down at the fluttering golden snitch held in his right hand with the initials H.P. emblazoned into one side.

He knew that the dumb Weasel had spent almost his entire life's savings on the petty thing, and grinned fully at his reflection as he realized that he had been able to snatch it from that no good, meddling Potter, right under his nose. Although, it _was _a mystery as to why the _real _Potter had never arrived at his own birthday party.

Of course, when Draco had arrived at Hogsmeade, he had had no intention of crashing Potter's wretched party. But curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he had snuck in undetected while the stupid mud-blood had been lighting the candles to Potter's birthday cake. No one had been worried that Potter had not been at the party yet; he was known to always be a little late for everything. Draco supposed that he could 'step in' as Potter, at least until he came; then he could slip away to a loo or something, and take the charm off. He would be able to loom and spy on his nemesis without being noticed; after all, half of Hogwarts had been at the Three Broomsticks, including some of the less spiteful Slytherins. Draco doubted that he would be caught and even if he was, he _highly _doubted that he'd be kicked out.

What a shock it had been when he had ended up intruding on the party for its entirety; Potter never showed. Draco had walked away full-handed and content to have taken at least something that may have held a semblance of importance to Harry had he known what he was receiving. And, in the least, Potter would be angry with him for intruding…if he ever found out that it had been Draco in the first place. Draco smirked at the thought and lifted a silver comb to his hair.

…

…

…

Harry took one last look out his window before throwing it open and waving wildly to Arthur, who waved back enthusiastically with a huge smile. Harry then grabbed Hedwig's cage and opened it quickly, allowing her to fly out the window. "Meet me at the Burrow, okay?" He asked. Hedwig hooted an affirmative before flying off, and Harry smiled softly. Arthur was early.

Arthur ambled up the walk slowly, a grin plastered on his face. Harry would never have to return to this muggle facility ever again! Although, it was quite a shame. Muggles were such interesting creatures. Arthur hoped that one day he would know all there was to know about muggles; he was expecting word from the Muggle Studies section of the ministry any day now, talking about a certain promotion that Arthur was sure he would be getting. His smile faded slightly when the door was immediately yanked open and he was pulled quickly inside.

"Hurry, you!" A fat, purple-faced man cried out as he slammed the door. "The sooner you leave this house, the better."

Of course, not all muggles were good. Arthur knew this. Muggles were similar to wizards, in this way at least. Arthur smiled warmly at the muggle in question; Virgil, or something along those lines, wasn't it? Arthur never had been very good with names. "Of course, Mr. Dursley." Arthur said as he pried his thin frame away from that of the thick man who was holding him strongly in place. "Where's Harry, if you please."

Vernon paled considerably. "Up in his room," He said stiffly, yanking his arms to his side and standing stiff as a board.

"If you could just-"

"Hi, Arthur," Harry greeted as he stood at the top of the stairs. "I'm ready to go; my stuff's just upstairs. Do you think you could help me shrink it down? I can't do magic yet, you know."

Arthur's smile turned into a slight frown as he followed Harry up the stairs. "It doesn't make sense, this new rule they've put in place."

Harry smiled bitterly as he opened the door to his soon-to-be-former room. "I'll bet they put it into affect because they knew that I have to vanquish the dark lord, and they want to charge me with something or another. They've always got to make the hero out to be a bad person, didn't you know?"

"Harry, I know how you feel towards them, but I _do _work there, you know."

Harry blinked at Arthur for a few moments, then nodded slightly. "Yeah, I know." Harry lifted Hedwig's cage and held it up for Arthur to shrink.

"Just leave the lot of it as it was. It'll be a lot faster to shrink them all down at once." Arthur said and Harry nodded, putting the cage back to where it had formerly sat. "I'll be expecting a promotion to Muggle Studies soon," Arthur commented as he waved his wand at Harry's luggage. Harry watched smugly as his belongings were shrunk to smaller than a fly and quickly pocketed them, listening intently to all that Arthur had to say. "Going to be learning quite a lot about them, actually. They're similar to Wizards in quite a few ways."

"We're all human," Harry said in agreement. He took one final look around the room, then nodded to Arthur, who was staring at Harry questioningly.

"You look much better for wear than you did when you first got here," Arthur commented.

Harry shot a small smile in Arthur's direction. "I sort of forgot to tell my relatives that I'm not allowed to do magic quite yet. They've been treating me a lot nicer this summer for some reason." Harry smirked as he led Arthur down the stairs and to the front door of the house that he hoped never to see again.

He left out the fact that he was limping slightly, though it wasn't quite pronounced, so Arthur probably hadn't noticed it yet. And he also emitted the fact that he had used a glamour on himself seconds before Arthur came, in order to cover up all the bruises. Of course, he wasn't allowed to do magic yet, but the Ministry had probably stopped radar-ing the house for a few hours in order for Arthur to pick him up, and Harry deemed it a rather important matter that he make himself presentable; if Hermione hadn't believed his letter, which had been written in blood, then she probably wouldn't believe a few scrapes and bruises. She would probably think that they were self inflicted, and insist that the Weasley's check him into St. Mungo's.

"That wasn't very nice of you, Harry," Arthur said sternly, but the way his eyes twinkled in mirth totally bellied the sternness of his voice. "I'm sure your relatives would have liked to know."

Harry shrugged. "There were a lot of things that I wanted to know last year, too. Like the fact that we were planning on having Dumbledore "killed." That would have been nice to know ahead of time. And the fact that Malfoy," Harry shuddered at the name the way someone else would have shuddered at the name Voldemort, before continuing. "Had decided to join our rankings instead of Vol-uh…You Know Who. You don't always get what you want, Arthur." Harry said it lightly, jokingly, but inside, Harry meant every word that he had said.

Arthur sighed and nodded. "I know, Harry, and I'm sorry! But with your link to the Dark Lord, we had no way of knowing…" He trailed off at the sight of Harry's uncle looming just in the foyer. "Maybe this isn't the best of places to talk about this. We'll talk about it when we get to Number 12, okay?"

Harry nodded with a sigh, and locked his eyes with Vernon's. "Vernon," Harry said with a nod. "I hope I never see you again." With that, he turned on his heel and reached out for the door, but was stopped by a sharp blow on his right shoulder blade.

"What was that, boy?" Vernon asked sharply, beady eyes glistening.

"Mister Dursley!" Arthur exclaimed with a loud intake of breath. "Unhand him this instant!"

"Stay out of this, you! This is a family matter and does not concern the likes of _you_!" Vernon spat.

Arthur looked between Vernon and Harry desperately. When he made eye contact with Harry's panicked eyes, Arthur nodded to himself and raised his wand to point directly at Vernon. "_Impedimenta!_" Then he quickly raised his wand as high into the air as he could and shouted, "_Expecto Patronum!_" A silvery beaver shot from the tip of his wand, and though it wasn't quite as big as Harry's stag, nor as powerful, it still served its purpose. The shimmering beaver quickly shot through the ceiling of the Dursleys' home and called upon an official of the Ministry of Magic to inform him of misgivings. The man apparated instantly to the doorstep of the Dursleys' home and burst through the door quickly as the beaver retreated back into Arthur's wand.

"What seems to be the problem!" The man shouted. His eyes were franticly searching the room for the cause of the problem, and they immediately rested on Vernon, who was still in mid-stride and making very little progress to the place where Harry had once stood.

Harry stood out on the stoop and eyed the ministry official guardedly, arms folded over his chest protectively. The man was wearing deep red robes that were three sizes too small, his large bulge of a stomach sticking out prominently. A few of the buttons on his robes threatened to pop off, but thankfully they stayed in their respectful places. The man's hair was a light grey, but he was balding severely. His eyes were a dark blue and they were broiling with panic as he took in the image of a very angry Vernon.

Harry's shoulder was throbbing painfully, and he was afraid that the blow to it earlier had caused one of his wounds to re-open. Though no one could see the blood because of the glamour he had put upon himself, Harry could feel it trickling slowly down his spine and shuddered. "All right there, Harry?"

Harry nodded and covered up his grimace of pain with a faked sneeze, which caused him to burst into a coughing fit because of the pain it caused him. "Yeah," Harry wheezed out after the coughs had subsided. "Just fine."

"A punch that hard ought to have left a bruise." Arthur said, eyeing Harry critically for any signs of weakness. "Any clue why he would have done it?"

Harry shook his head swiftly and averted his eyes.

"He seems easily put off, if you ask me," Arthur said, eyes drifting over to the large man in question. He was currently being Obliterated by the Ministry Official. Harry's eyes trailed down to his feet.

"Yeah," Harry answered, an anxious feeling swelling in the pit of his stomach and spreading, causing his whole body to shake. "I, uh…can we go now?" Harry asked.

"Don't you think we ought to have someone look at that shoulder of yours?" Arthur asked, eyeing Harry again.

"No," Harry said, careful to make sure that he didn't respond too quickly. "I've had worse. I'm okay, he barely nicked me."

Arthur nodded slightly, then looked over to the man who was currently asking Vernon what he remembered of that night. Vernon was in the middle of a response. "What the bleeding hell are you peop-"

"All right there, Pete?" Arthur cut in by asking the short, balding man.

The man named Pete nodded. "Yup. I've got it all handled. You're free to go if you want to, Harry," Pete said, tossing Harry an appraising look.

"Yeah," Harry agreed quickly, and made his way across the Dursleys' front lawn to the small red car that was parked in front of their home. He walked to the passenger side and got in, and watched as Arthur made his way to the car as well.

"Harry," Arthur began as he strapped himself into the car and turned to face the aforementioned raven-haired teen. "Is something wrong? You seem a bit peaky."

Harry shook his head. "I'm just…tired, that's all."

"Ah," Arthur said with a knowing smile. "Up all night in excitement, then?" He asked.

Harry averted his gaze to outside the window. "You could say that." Then Harry glanced over at the steering wheel pointedly. "You gonna start it, or are we just gonna sit here all day?"

"Oh, erm…" Arthur flushed slightly. "I haven't driven for a while. You'll have to excuse me if I'm a bit rusty."

Harry nodded. "It's okay, Mr. Weasley. Really,"

"Ronald has been looking forward to this visit since before your birthday." Arthur said as he turned the key and shifted the car carefully onto the road. "I hope you've brought your money, though. We're going school shopping day after tomorrow."

"I can get some there, can't I?" Harry asked, a confused glance shot towards Arthur.

"Oh, heavens, no!" Arthur exclaimed, shooting Harry a concerned look. "Haven't you been reading the _Prophet_?"

Harry looked questioningly at Arthur. "No," Harry said, confusion turning his eyes a murky moss-green. "Why?"

"There have been at least ten attempted break-ins ever since summer started," Arthur explained as he turned the car right. They continued to drive straight until the Dursleys' home was out of sight, and Harry could have sworn he saw a large, blonde-headed boy staring after their car forlornly as they went. "Gringotts has been shut down."

Harry looked at Arthur, eyes wide. "But…it can't be! I don't have any money, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, that's quite all right, my boy. We'll figure out some way to get you money."

Harry looked worriedly at Arthur. "It's not a problem, is it? If I'd have known they were going to shut down, I would have gone and gotten some money out before they did!"

"Oh, what a wonderful idea! We'll go and do that tomorrow, and then after we get everything we need, we'll go to your house."

"My house?" Harry looked at Arthur as if he had gone nutters. "I don't ever want to go back there! My house, indeed."

Arthur smiled. "No, Harry, your other house!"

Harry blinked in confusion for a few moments until it dawned on him. "Oh! Okay. Wait…what did you mean, "we'll go get some money tomorrow"? Didn't you say that Gringotts has been shut down?"

Arthur smiled softly, but didn't say anything more. When they were out of sight of any muggles, Arthur pushed the invisible button, then pulled back on the steering wheel, and they took off into the air. Shortly after Arthur had gone silent, Harry fell asleep.


	5. Are You Wearing a Glamour?

**Response to Reviews:**

_Bookworm51485: _Actually, I rather liked your suggestions. Those are fine ideas! I don't know if I'll use them exactly, but if it's all right with you, I think I may have them influence the fic a bit. I hope that you continue to leave reviews like the one you left just now; they're very inspiring, and I love people that take the time to leave long reviews like yours. I also agree with you about the _"if you supposedly know a person so well, you should know when they aren't acting normal," _thing. But we've got to remember that these people haven't seen Harry at all ever since summer started; people change, and Harry is no exception. And by the way, would you mind telling me the title of this fic that you're beta'ing? It sounds quite interesting!

_Alexander: _I'm sorry that Harry seemed to be too happy to you this time. That most definitely was not the way I wanted him to be portrayed; he's not happy, he's just numb, that's all. I do know the way rape victims react to people afterwards, but I'm glad that you've reminded me. I don't want Harry to be too different from a normal rape victim, but at the same time, I'd like for the reader to remember that this is _Harry Potter_ we're dealing with; nothing is normal! Now on to the thing about Hermione. She and Ron have just discovered their mutual feelings for one another, and have taken it upon themselves to further explore the possibilities of their newfound relationship. They have hardly had any time for Harry, and therefore, Hermione was not really thinking much about Harry's letter to her. Let's just say that a bit of Ron's stubbornness has rubbed off on her, shall we?

_Kimberly: _I'm glad you didn't knock it before you tried it! There have been some fics out there that I didn't think that I would like, but once I read them, they weren't really that bad! So I'm thankful for you giving me a chance.

_Thank you to all others who have reviewed (The list is becoming immensely large; I can't list you all, so I'd just like to give a HUGE thank you to EVERYONE who's read and/or reviewed this fic)._

**Chapter Five**

**Are You Wearing a Glamour?**

Harry stared idly at the quickly passing scenery, but wasn't really seeing it as they quickly flew over. He was too busy contemplating how long his glamour would last; he _had _cast a rather strong one. And he never had paid much attention in Transfigurations, not with Ron always sitting by him. Of course, he knew that he had much bigger things to worry about at the moment, but right now, it felt nice to only think about the small things.

Arthur kept glancing over at Harry worriedly, his brow furrowed in thought. Harry had been rather silent for the entirety of the trip; it was very different from his usually chatty demeanor. "Harry, are you all right?" He asked pointedly, a brow raised slightly in question as he stared straight ahead through the windshield, with his hands clamped tightly to the steering wheel. The car didn't really require much driving, though, as it was doing just fine driving itself to their destination.

"Hmm?" Harry glanced over at Arthur, his expression blank.

"I asked if you were all right."

"Oh," Harry's brow furrowed as though it took a lot of concentration for him to figure out an answer to such a simple question. "Yes," He said finally, though his eyes were looking anywhere but at Arthur. "I'm fine."

"You're sure?" Arthur attempted eye contact, and when it failed for the third time, he sighed and looked back through the windshield.

"Yeah," Harry looked out his window again, and was silent for the rest of the trip. Arthur continued to glance worriedly at Harry, and by the time the car finally landed, Arthur was sure he could see something white but soaked with some type of crimson substance wrapped snuggly around Harry's head. When Arthur glanced again, though, Harry's forehead was as it normally was; white-object-less and scarred.

"Well," Arthur broke the uncomfortable silence after a few moments. "We're here."

Harry continued to glare out his window. Arthur examined him for a few moments, then reached out to shake his shoulder lightly. Harry flinched away, and Arthur looked at him questioningly. "Ready to go, Harry?"

Harry blinked somewhat dazedly, then nodded. He opened his car door, and seconds after he had stepped out, he was mauled by a bushy-haired creature which had immediately sprung itself into his arms and wrapped itself around him. Harry's eyes flooded with panic, but he pushed it down and stood stiffly in the embrace that had been forced upon him. "Oh, Harry!" Came the muffled cry from his shoulder. "I know I just saw you a couple of days ago, but I've missed you so much it's not even funny!" Hermione exclaimed, burying her head into the crook of his neck. Harry could feel the hot tears spilling from her eyes and onto his throat, but didn't say anything.

Ron eyed him jealously from a few yards away, and when Hermione finally pulled away, he was the one who launched himself at Harry. "Harry! How've you been, mate?"

Harry stood stiffly in Ron's embrace as well, flinching slightly when Ron pounded him roughly on the back and hit the place where Vernon had delivered a final blow before Harry's departure. Arthur swooped in then and yanked Ron away. "Not so rough, Ronald! Harry's got quite the bruise by now, I'm sure."

Harry backed a few paces away from Arthur, Hermione and Ron, and stood with his back to the car as Hermione shot him a questioning gaze. "What do you mean?" She asked accusingly, probably suspecting the worst of him.

Arthur looked between Harry and Hermione in silence for a few moments, before pulling Harry towards him by the shoulder. He slung his arm across Harry's shoulders, then grinned brightly at the teens staring suspiciously at them. "Well, Mr. Dursley seemed quite put off today. I suppose he was rather thankful that Harry's leaving, although I couldn't possibly fathom why."

Hermione's eyes widened considerably as the letter that had been written to her previously entered her mind for the first time since she had read it, quickly scribbled out a response, and stuck it into the bottom of her trunk, never to see daylight again. "What do you mean?" She asked again. "What did he _do_?"

"He hit Harry's shoulder, actually," Arthur responded, as though they were talking about the weather. Then he smiled down proudly at Harry. "Well it was actually more of a punch but…well…it seems like it would hurt to me, but Harry said that he was fine. You _are _fine, aren't you Harry?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously at Harry and Harry averted his. "Yeah," He said weakly. "Just fine. Actually, I've been pretty bored lately." He looked over to Ron, hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing slightly as he slowly wormed his way away from Arthur. "Would you fancy a game of Wizard's Chess?"

Ron's eyes lit up at the prospect of beating Harry into the ground, and he grinned madly. "Of course!" He said, turning and sprinting towards his tall, slightly lopsided home. "Be back in a sec."

Hermione and Harry stood alone close to the car, as Arthur jammed his hands into his pockets and ambled up the walk after Ron. "Have fun, you two." He called with a smile, raising one hand to wave briefly before jamming it back into his pocket and disappearing into the Burrow.

Hermione turned on Harry the moment the two red-heads were out of view. "Your uncle _attacked _you? Harry, I know you say you're all right, but you'd say you were all right even if one of your arms were nearly falling off, your nose was broken," Harry flinched slightly at the thought of a broken nose, his hand going up to finger his own nose which was still mending from the breaking of it before; thank goodness for the glamour covering up the fact that he still had a nasty-looking swell right on the bridge of his nose, though it _had _healed considerably since the last time he had looked. "And you were missing three fingers. Is there really a bruise? Here," At her last word, Hermione quickly grabbed Harry by the sweater, which she found was weird since it was the middle of summer and it was sweltering; she herself was wearing a light blue tank-top and cut-off shorts; and flipped him around.

She swiftly yanked the sweater up over his head and eyed his shoulders critically. Her eyes narrowed at the unusually pale color of his skin. "Harry, are you wearing a _glamour_?" She asked suspiciously.

Harry's eyes widened and he yanked away, pulling his sweater back down as he turned around to face her. "No!" He yelped, eyes blazing.

"What purpose would you have for using a _glamour_, Harry?" Hermione asked, ignoring his protests and eyeing him.

"I've told you," Harry protested in vain as he backed away from her and nearly tumbled to the ground because of a protruding rock. "I'm not wearing a glamour!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow sternly at him. "Let me see, Harry," She commanded, and Harry's eyes suddenly became panicked as he backed further away from her.

"I'm not!" He cried out weakly. "I swear I'm not wearing a glamour!"

Just then, Ron popped out of his house, carrying a chessboard and a large paper bag filled with sweets. "Back!" He called out cheerily. His smile drooped a bit as he looked between his two friends. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Harry cried out at the same time that Hermione pointed a finger and accused, "He's wearing a glamour!"

"A glamour?" Ron asked, looking at Harry questioningly.

"I'm _not_!" Harry yelled, glaring at Hermione angrily.

"But you're as pale as a ghost! That's one of the side-affects of a glamour, Harry!"

"I just haven't gotten out much!" Harry protested as Ron looked him up and down.

"Well, mate," Ron offered as he put the chessboard on the ground and sat with his legs crossed as he began to set up a new game. "Wearing trousers and a sweater all the time isn't really going to help you get much of a tan."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Harry," She began, voice softer this time. "You can tell us what's going on. Why are you wearing a glamour?"

"Hermione, quit badgering him! I'll bet he was locked up in his room all summer and probably hasn't gotten out at all! And look at you, accusing him of using a glamour on his first time outside in nearly three bleeding months! Have a heart, 'Mione!"

Hermione flushed, and Harry glared down at his shoes. "Come on, mate," Ron cried joyously, patting the hard-packed earth across from him. Harry slumped onto the ground defeatedly, and Ron began the game first by moving one of his pawns.

…

…

…

Three hours and four Wizard's Chess games later, Harry was staring up at the clouds wistfully, Hermione had her back pressed against a tree and her nose shoved into a book, and Ron was gorging himself with the sweets he had brought out. "You shure you dun wan' none, 'arry?" He asked, mouth bulging with chocolate. Harry shook his head and sighed slightly as he looked over at Hermione, who kept glancing at him every once in a while.

"I'm not wearing a glamour," Harry denied for about the fiftieth time in the three hours he had been with the two of his friends.

"It's not that," Hermione said with a frown. "You seem different than you were at the party, that's all."

Harry blinked. "But I wasn't _at _the party," Harry said, brows furrowed in confusion.

Hermione ignored him. "You're shorter," She said. "And your hair's a bit longer. Darker, too. Your eyes seem a little more…I don't know…empty? No, that's not the word. Hollow. Yes, that's it. Your eyes are more hollow. And they're a little lighter green than they were then; that's all right, though, changing eye color is normal." Hermione continued to list off the traits that were "different" about Harry under her breath to herself, and Harry tuned her out. He looked back up at the sky and flinched at a cloud that closely resembled a dog. He closed his eyes tightly, and before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

"He seems a lot more tired than usual, don't you think?" Ron asked conversationally as he shoved a pumpkin pasty into his mouth greedily.

Hermione nodded absently, still listing off differences between the Harry now and the Harry at the party, only now she was quickly scribbling her thoughts down with a quill into a muggle journal. Ron had been rather disappointed with it when he found that the pictures within didn't move, and had quickly lost interest in it.

Hermione was mumbling incoherently to herself and glaring every so often at Harry, before hunching back over her journal and scribbling furiously. Ron eyed her nervously as he stopped shoving mass amounts of food into his mouth for just a few moments to wonder what she was on about. This Harry was exactly the same Harry from the party!

Well, given, Ron hadn't really paid much attention to Harry then. But he had been rather occupied with certain aspects involving Hermione's chest to notice if Harry was acting off or not! Hell, Harry had acted off since Sirius' death! How was Ron supposed to know what the hell was wrong with him? He had barely said a word about it at all during their sixth year.

Harry groaned and turned in his sleep, his face scrunched up as if he were in pain. Hermione looked up from her journal worriedly, and met Ron's eyes over Harry's body, which was beginning to gleam slightly with sweat that had started to drench his clothes unexpectedly.

Harry turned again, and Hermione sat up, pressing a hand to Harry's sweaty forehead. "He's burning up, Ron," Hermione said, eyes flashing with apprehension. Ron looked longingly at his bag of sweets before kneeling before Harry, who was tossing and moaning.

"Harry? You all right, mate?" His eyes met Hermione's once again, as Harry's moans became intelligible words.

"No! Stop it! No! Please, no!" Harry's eyes fluttered, but he didn't wake.

"Harry? Harry, wake up! It's only a dream!" Hermione shook Harry slightly as Harry's breathing became erratic and his words faded away. Slowly, Harry began to struggle in Hermione's arms, his legs flailing and his arms flinging themselves about wildly. He made soft little grunts and groans, but no more words were formed by his now down-turned mouth.

Harry's struggling went on for a good five minutes, Hermione and Ron looking at each other, anxious for the moment that Harry would wake. "Harry, please wake up." Hermione pleaded with Harry, and slowly, Harry's struggles subsided. Hermione continued to try to soothe him with her voice, and slowly, Harry's eyes parted.

Harry stared wide-eyed up at the clear blue sky, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. His hair was plastered to his face from his sweat, which was at this moment leaking from his body.

Hermione examined him with her eyes slowly, before hugging him tightly. "It's okay, Harry," Hermione comforted him, and Harry slumped into her arms in defeat. "It was only a dream."

"All right there, Harry?" Ron asked awkwardly. Harry remained unresponsive from Hermione's arms, and Ron blinked in confusion. "Was it about Vol…um…You-Know-Who?"

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Ron! It's only a name!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice muffled slightly. Then she pulled away from Harry slightly, eyeing him critically. "It _was _about Voldemort, _wasn't _it Harry?"

Harry blinked slightly as though just waking up (of course, he had all reason to be confused, as he _had _just woken up). "Er…yeah, Hermione," Harry said after a bit. "It was about Voldemort." His hand went up to his forehead and rubbed the invisible linen that was covering his newer soon-to-be-scar.

The truth of the matter was that the dream, in fact, had _not _been about Voldemort. And Harry no longer feared Voldemort or even _Dementors _as much as he now feared his own uncle.

------

_Harry's Dream_

------

_Harry had just arrived at the Weasley's home and everything had gone off without a hitch. Hermione was chattering wildly about the upcoming school year as she sat on the foot of Ron's bed, her hands animatedly finding their way into the conversation. Harry sat on his own bed watching Hermione talk but not really partaking in the conversation, and right before his eyes, the scene faded. _

_Voldemort's face flashed before his eyes, and Harry could feel the burning feeling of his scar burning again, but seconds later, Voldemort's face was replaced with his Uncle Vernon's, and Harry was back in his own bedroom with Vernon looming above him menacingly. _

"_You'll never escape me, boy!" Dream-Vernon shouted down at Harry, slapping his belt against his hand threateningly. Harry closed his eyes and willed it all away, but when they opened, Vernon was still stooping above him, eyes gleaming dangerously. The newly-formed wound on his forehead began to throb painfully, and blood began to leak from his forehead in gushes in rhythm with his pulse. Vernon cackled menacingly as blood spurted from Harry's wound and covered his whole body in the warm, gooey substance._

_Soon, Harry was drowning in a sea of his own blood, and Vernon was floating above it all, screaming his new mantra at the top of his lungs. "You'll never escape me, boy! I'll always be here! You'll never escape me, boy! I'll always be here! Always! You'll never…"_

_The voice faded away as Harry's eyes forced themselves to open and look up at a peacefully cloudless sky. _

_------_

_End Dream_

_------_


	6. Fading Glamours

**Chapter Six**

**Fading Glamours**

"Harry," Hermione asked once they were all sitting comfortably in Harry and Ron's shared room in the Burrow. "Are you wearing a glamour because something's wrong with your scar?"

Harry's eyes widened and his hand automatically reached up to rub the linen covering his new wound, which, although he could feel, no one could see. "No," He denied right away, a little too fast for Hermione's likings. "And I'm not wearing a glamour!" Harry said after a short pause. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so? Well then, if it is, I suppose this will just prove your point. _Finite-"_

"Stop! Why don't you just believe me?" Harry raised a hand and shielded his face as Hermione cut off the charm right away.

"Harry, I would believe you, if all the facts didn't point in one obvious direction!"

Harry backed away from her and leaned against the nearest wall for support. "What direction?" He asked wearily, not really wanting to know but knowing that he didn't really have a choice.

"That you aren't the same person," Hermione said grimly.

"Of course I'm not!" Harry exclaimed, eyes gleaming. "Because I didn't go to the party!"

"No, Harry, I didn't mean that. You're not the same person that you were when you left Hogwarts. I want to know why. You were acting sort of off when you were at the party, but that was _nothing _compared to the way you're acting now!"

"Please, believe me, Hermione. Please?" Harry begged, and Hermione eyed him doubtfully.

"Harry, I-"

"Hello, Harry!" The door slammed open at that moment, two voices chimed the greeting cheerily and in unison, and Harry sighed under his breath in relief.

"Fred, George! How're you?" Harry asked.

"Great, mate! And yourself?"

"Uh…good," Harry said, averting his eyes slightly.

"You're not pissed at us for not being able to make the party, are you?" George asked.

"Huh?" Harry asked. "Oh, uh…no, of course not."

"See, George?" Fred asked, prodding his twin in the side. "I knew he'd understand!"

Hermione growled in frustration and pointed her wand threateningly towards the twins, who were laughing with each other jokingly. "If you don't shut up and let me finish," She threatened. "So help me, I'll-"

"All right, all right!" Fred exclaimed, raising up his hands.

"We surrender!" George agreed mockingly, raising his hands up as well.

"Good," Hermione said, turning back towards Harry. "Now, then. I really wish I could trust you, Harry, but for some reason, my gut's telling me not to. You understand, don't you?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, rushing across the room to hide behind one of the twins. He was too slow.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" Hermione cried, hitting Harry squarely in the back. Harry let out a strangled groan as one of his back wounds ripped open and he fell to the floor, panting. Hermione looked horror stricken as she looked down at what had once been her _healthy _best friend.

Harry was thin, his ribs visible through the too big, tattered old shirt he wore that had seconds before looked brand new and form fitting. The shirt was riding up to Harry's shoulders, and Ron blanched at the sight of the blood trickling down Harry's back.

Harry stayed on his knees, head down in shame and blood-matted hair covering his eyes which were quickly tearing up. Blood was dripping from the bandage that covered Harry's forehead, the linen having sucked up the maximum amount of blood that it could hold. "You could have trusted me," Harry said in a whisper, his voice cracking on the last word. He remained in his position on the floor and flinched away from Hermione when she dropped to her knees, her own eyes flooding with tears.

"Oh, Harry," She said, tears trailing down her face. "I'm so sorry."

Harry remained silent and struggled to get away from her when she placed her hand on his shoulder. "Don't touch me," Harry whispered, his voice sounding dry.

Ron, having recovered slightly from the sight of blood, looked Harry up and down, eyes wide. "What happened to _you_, mate?" He asked, unbelieving of the sight of a wounded, broken Harry that refused to go away even after he had tried to convince himself that he was imagining things.

Harry looked up and met Hermione's eyes, his own eyes gleaming with bitterness. "Nothing," He said after a long bout of silence. "I'm just a little banged up, is all."

Hermione's tears fell at a greater speed and she let out a choked sob. "I'm sorry, Harry! So unbelievably sorry!"

"So, your gut's telling you to believe me now?" Harry asked, ignoring her apologies. "Why not sooner? Why not then?"

"Harry, you've got to understand-"

"No," Harry said, finally pulling himself up and replacing the glamour. "I haven't _got _to understand _anything_."

Fred and George glanced between Hermione and Harry in shocked awe. "What's going on?" George asked Fred in a whisper after a moment.

"I don't know," Fred whispered in return. "But I don't think dad knows, and I don't think that it's anything good. We should probably tell him or mum. Mum, at least." George nodded in agreement, and they sneaked off while Harry was glaring heatedly at Hermione.

"I'd like to be alone for a few moments, if you please," Harry said, his voice cold and eyes distant.

Hermione nodded frantically and when Harry retreated to the bathroom across the hall, she slumped into Ron's arms and sobbed while Ron glanced at her in confusion.

Harry slumped onto the toilet seat and let the tears that had been welling up fall with a sniff. He didn't know why he had lashed out at Hermione as he had, but he felt that she deserved it. Even if she _had _believed him when he had told her what had happened, he knew that there wasn't much that she could have done to begin with, but it was the fact that she _hadn't _believed him that got to him so much.

Hot tears trailed down Harry's cheeks, stinging his eyes as they were replaced with even more tears that quickly followed, forming a trail down his cheeks that burned. He sobbed quietly, his whole body quaking with the effort that it took, his lungs burning from the loss of air as he held his breath to keep his sobs silent, and the rest of his body aching painfully because of the acceleration of his heart at the lack of oxygen, which caused blood to pulse quickly through his veins and out of his wounds.

There was no pain, though. Not until he was forced to inhale. That was when the pain hit him in waves, crashing over his body and filling him with a feeling that few people could go through without being knocked unconscious. But he was the Boy-Who-Lived; he had gone through pain before. He had been _raped _before, and it had hurt like hell. Surely this couldn't be as bad as being raped, could it? As the pain wracked his body, Harry's mind went to a state similar to that of a person about to die; his life, the bad parts, particularly, flashed before him in dream-like visions as his eyes slowly slid closed.

'_This isn't so bad,' _he thought finally, as the pain began to overtake his body, pushing everything else to the back of his mind as it forcefully took over his entire being. _'I can get used to this. I can heal. I'll be fine.' _As Harry continued to try and convince himself that he would be just fine, the pain slowly began to subside, until it was but a small, painful throb. The blood continued to flow, but the pain wasn't so bad. Harry could feel a slight tingling in all of his limbs before everything went numb.

Minutes later, or maybe hours, Harry couldn't quite be sure anymore, there was a loud banging on the bathroom door. Harry slowly opened his eyes and glared at the door as the pounding became more consistent, only adding to the painful throbbing of his head, which was aching more by the second. "What?" he cried out, his voice hoarse from crying. He hardly noticed that, though, as the door slowly swung open and the kind, worried face of one Molly Weasley was presented to him, her lips upturned in a hopeful half smile.

"Harry? Are you all right, dear? Fred and George said you've got a few bruises. Do you think I could have a look?" Molly asked warily. She slowly stepped into the room, and Harry eyed her.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley." He said after a while, his voice monotonous and his eyes empty of all emotion. "Really. They're only a few bruises, I'll live."

"You're sure? Hermione was awfully worried. Even Ronald seemed a little upset."

Harry blinked blankly at Mrs. Weasley, his brow furrowed slightly and shiny because of the light sweat that covered his entire face. "You don't look too good, dear. Do you need to lie down?"

"Uh, yeah, I think I'm a bit sick, actually. You wouldn't mind if I just skipped dinner tonight, would you?" Harry asked.

"Oh, of course not! I'll just make you something a bit later and you can rest now. Come on," Mrs. Weasley extended her hand for Harry to take and looked at him expectantly as Harry eyed her hand. When Harry hadn't taken it after a few moments, Mrs. Weasley settled for feeling his forehead. "My, dear! You're burning up. Come, now, let's get you all settled." She walked from the room still chattering and Harry followed reluctantly.

…

…

…

"Dad, I don't _want _to go there again!" Draco complained as he raked a hand through his hair and followed his father into his study. "Bloody Potter almost mauled me last time I was there."

"Draco, you're a wanted man. You've 'killed' the greatest wizard of the century, you're a supposed death eater, and you have no where else to retreat to. The Dark Lord can protect you, but when push comes to shove, he always thinks of himself first. I don't want you to get hurt." Lucius looked sternly down at his son as he paced in his study.

"And you think I'd be safe at Number Twelve?" Draco asked mockingly.

"Of course you would!" Narcissa Malfoy exclaimed as she followed Draco into Lucius' study. "Lucius, tell him he would be safe." Narcissa demanded her hands cocked on her hips as she glared Lucius down.

Lucius sighed. "It will be safest _there_, Draco," He said after a few moments pause. "The Dark Lord would be most pleased to find out that you were already spying for him as well, and may wish to give you the Dark Mark earlier than expected."

"I can't have the Dark Mark!" Draco said, paling. "I'm on the light side."

"I know, Draco. But what must be done must be done. Severus has the Dark Mark, I have the Dark Mark. Even your mother has the Dark Mark."

"He won't be getting the Dark Mark, Lucius!" Narcissa said as she stalked further into the room and slung her arm around Draco's shoulders protectively. "We aren't spying for the Dark Lord; we have excuses for our marks. And Dumbledore is most accepting of Severus and his Dark Mark. As you've said, what must be done must be done. But we cannot sacrifice our son in the mean time!"

Lucius rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I know, Narcissa, and for now, The-Boy-Who-Lived is our only hope of survival." He turned to Draco then and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Draco, you are to stay at Number Twelve for the remainder of the summer. And you will not return to Hogwarts this year, I'm afraid."

Draco sighed and nodded. After all, what had to be done had to be done.

…

…

…

After snoozing for a few hours, Harry felt awake enough to face the world. What a mistake _that _had been. As soon as he had left Ron's room, he was faced with the whole of the Weasley family wanting to know exactly what had happened to him over the summer. But the best part of it was that Hermione was no where to be found, so Harry didn't have to deal with her.

After a very festive dinner (Harry hadn't missed dinner after all, that evening) with the whole of the Weasley family (including Fleur, whom was still engaged to Bill, and whom still annoyed the heck out of everybody), they had all settled into the family room to share their stories of the summer, when Arthur giddily suggested that they go to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place right that very instant. Of course, he was a little hopped up on Firewhiskey, but everyone else seemed to think that it was a divine idea (because most of them were hopped up on it, too), so they grabbed all of their already packed luggage, piled into the car that Arthur had borrowed from the Ministry to pick up Harry, and took off.

Of course, when they arrived at Number Twelve, no one was expecting them, so the current residents were a little slow at answering the door. When the door was finally yanked open, it was by a very annoyed looking Tonks, who now had bright, dark green hair (much similar to Harry's eyes) that flowed over her shoulders and puddled elegantly onto the floor. She was clad in only a very flimsy, light green nightgown, and looked to be half-asleep. The half-asleep look disappeared moments after she found out who was on the other side of the door.

"Remus, you'll never guess who's out here!" She called as she ushered the Weasleys, Hermione and Harry into the warmly lit foyer.

"Did they come early? Have they arrived?" Remus had a very excited look in his eyes that quickly died away when he caught sight of the Weasleys. "Guess not. But um…I'm glad to see _them_, too."

Tonks shot him a knowing look and Remus blushed slightly. "Hey, I have fantasies, you know!" he said as an excuse. Tonks giggled and led the Weasleys into the kitchen.

"I know," she said as she disappeared into the kitchen with Molly in hot pursuit.

"Oh, this house is filthy," Molly reprimanded drunkenly as she swiped the mantle of the fireplace with her finger and held it up to inspect the dust that had gathered there.

Ron stumbled into the kitchen quickly after his mother and yanked open the fridge unceremoniously. "Any grub in here?" He slurred out as he stuck his head into the fridge. A loud rattling sound followed, and Ron quickly fell onto his bum, holding a wriggling jar of something that looked like mouldy pickles in his hands.

Harry seated himself at the table and watched as Ron struggled to get back on his feet and stumbled around the kitchen, shrieking at the top of his lungs. "Get 'em off, Hermione! Get 'em off!"

Hermione shook her head scoldingly at Ron and took the jar from him. As soon as it was replaced in the fridge, she spelled the door locked and conjured some food for Ron, who was content to scarf it all down in moments, before belching loudly and giggling.

"What's all this racket about?" A cold voice asked, and Harry looked to the doorway to find a very unhappy-looking Severus Snape looming there, glaring at Ron, who was still cackling heartily about his quite long and rather loud burp.

Hermione shook her head and sighed. Harry refused to meet her eyes when she tried to look at him, and she sighed again before turning to Snape. "They're all rather drunk, sir. Actually, the only people who aren't drunk are Harry, Ginny and me."

Ginny nodded in agreement and eyed her brother, laughing at his drunken antics (but mostly laughing because he looked like a fool, sitting there cackling away at himself the way that he was. It made him seem rather loony).

Snape eyed Arthur, who was doing a little Irish jig for some reason or another, distastefully. "Drunk?" he asked in disbelief, and Hermione nodded. "How noble of them." Snape said after a few moments of silence, then he cast a short spell under his breath.

All of the Weasleys stopped what they were doing and looked around dazedly. "How'd we get _here_?" Mrs. Weasley asked after an awkward lull in sound.

"I don't know," Arthur replied, looking around confusedly.

Snape smirked smugly and left the room. A loud 'ugh!' could be heard from him as he ran into Bill and Fleur in the hall, half naked and snogging the daylights out of each other. They pulled apart for a few moments, looked distastefully at Snape, then continued as though nothing had happened. Snape scrunched up his face disgustedly and stormed up to his room, slamming the door loudly behind him.

…

…

…

Harry lay slumped in his bed with a snoring Ron laying across from him a long while later. The painting above him snickered slightly and Harry sighed and rolled over. "What do you want, Phineas?" he asked as the portrait continued to make small noises. "It's four o'clock in the morning; I'd like to get some sleep."

"Got a big day ahead of you, eh?" The voice of Phineas asked, and Harry sighed.

"No," he said. "Now go away."

"Can't, I'm afraid. Been asked to keep an eye on you after what I saw earlier today at the Weasleys'."

"By who?" Harry blinked and his brow furrowed, trying to think of who would have asked

"Minerva McGonagall, of course." He said, his voice holding an air of superiority.

Harry sat up. Of course Minerva would be the one to ask this of Phineas. She was the current Headmistress, now that Dumbledore had been 'killed'. "What exactly did you see today?" Harry asked suspiciously, glaring at the portrait blearily.

"Oh, not much," Phineas assured. "Just that you looked a bit worn for wear. The Dursleys give you a hard time over the summer?"

Harry shook his head and clamped his mouth shut.

"Not talking, eh? Well, I see no reason that that should stop me from doing my tasks. Be a sport and wake up that Weasley over there, would you? Oh, what's his name; Raymond, isn't it?"

"Ronald," Harry gritted out, and threw a shoe at Ron, who twitched slightly and snorted before rolling over.

"Ah, yes, Ronald." Phineas agreed and waited for a response from the red head. "Why hasn't he awakened yet? I wish to ask him questions."

"It's four in the morning!" Harry protested, shooting Phineas a withering glare. "He isn't going to wake up on _demand_. Besides, he's a heavy sleeper. Bother us in the morning."

With that, Harry slumped back into the bed and yanked the covers over his head. Phineas just snickered. "But it _is _morning."

Harry sighed. "You know what I meant." he said grouchily, rolling over and securing the covers over himself.

Phineas watched over Harry for the rest of the night, but when he began to stir a bit later that morning, Phineas was nowhere to be found.

…

…

…

The next morning as Harry sat at the breakfast table, he didn't have much of an appetite. His wounds were healing slowly, and sometime in the middle of the night, his glamour had faltered, which worried him a great deal. He had woken up with the covers thrown off and tangled about his feet, his face stuffed into the pillow, making it very difficult to breathe, and his bladder full to bursting.

Ron had already been gone by the time Harry got back from the bathroom, and Harry really hadn't wanted to go down to breakfast, but he hadn't really had much of a choice in the matter. Tonks had burst into the room seconds after he had refreshed his glamour and demanded that he go down and see just how much her cooking skills had improved. When he was finally dressed and fully functional, Tonks and dragged him down behind her and piled heaping amounts of food onto a plate she had hastily set in front of him. "You look like you need some fattening up," she had said, pinching one of his bone-thin ribs (which, to her, were normal feeling ribs which had just the right amount of fat and muscle to make Harry healthy).

Harry had winced slightly, but covered it up with a fake smile. "Yeah," he'd agreed. "I'm starving, hope you made enough for seconds." Tonks had beamed at him and walked off, hitting Remus in the back of the head for making faux gagging motions at Harry after he had taken a bite of food.

Harry regretted having told Tonks that he was hungry now, though. His stomach was rumbling in protest at the small amount of food that he had shoved down his throat, and he had been forced to charm more than half of his food invisible in order for anyone to believe that he had eaten at all.

None of the Weasleys had any affects of the alcohol they had consumed the night before; all, that was, except for Ron, who was a first-time drinker and had the largest hangover in 'the history of the world,' as far as he was concerned. Snape had told him that it was impossible to feel the affects of alcohol after the hex that he had used, but Ron insisted that he had a hangover, and after thinking about it for a while, began to freak out about Snape placing a hex on him in the first place.

Hermione kept a watchful eye on Harry for the entirety of breakfast. Everyone was surprised when the doorbell rang quite forcefully towards the end of their morning meal, and just to get away from Hermione's prying eyes, Harry volunteered to answer it. He stalked from the kitchen slowly, taking his time to think over the things that he had put off the previous night, and before he knew it, he was staring at the door.

Draco stared at the door impatiently, and rang the doorbell once again. Why the bloody hell was no one answering? It was nearly eleven o'clock on a nice, warm day, and Draco knew that at least _someone _had to be awake to hear the doorbell ringing. He sighed in relief when the door was finally pulled open. "Finally," he grumbled to the person who answered, not even bothering to look up at the man as he reached down and grabbed a suitcase to shove in the person's arms before levitating his trunk.

He stopped mid-stride when he finally took the time to see who had answered the door.

Harry Potter looked like shite. His hair was rumpled from sleep, his eyes were empty and had no spirit in them, his cheeks looked a little sunken in, there were bags under his eyes, his skin looked sallow, and was that blood dripping from his lip?

Harry could feel a slight tingling and cursed at himself under his breath. His glamour was beginning to wear off.

"What was that?" Draco asked. Harry was thankful that he was finally done staring.

"Nothing," He said. "It wasn't anything important, I was just sort of talking to myself, that's all."

"Oh, right. Well…are you going to…move aside?" Draco asked after a while, and Harry flushed slightly.

"Sorry," he said, stepping to the side.

"Who is it, Harry?" Ginny called from the kitchen and Harry cringed. Draco looked at him questioningly.

"Major headache," Harry explained, and Draco nodded in understanding. "It's Malfoy," He called back, and almost the entire household stormed into the foyer in seconds.

"Did I hear you right?" someone asked. "Malfoy?"

Harry sighed and covered his eyes tiredly. Mumbling the words to his glamour softly under his breath and pushing some of his magic out through his fingers, the glamour replaced itself and became stronger in seconds. "Yes," Harry said finally. "Malfoy."

The adults gathered around him in moments, greeting him, pinching his cheeks and prodding his body, commenting on how much he had grown since they had seen him last, and other such things adults such as they normally did. Draco withstood the prods to his ribs and the pinches to his cheeks, the tugs on his hair and the such, all the while keeping a close eye in Potter, whom he was sure was going to pounce him any second now.

Upon closer observation, he confirmed that it was, indeed, blood that was dripping from Potter's lip. But even before his eyes, the blood was fading and Potter's lip looked good as new. Draco's eyes trailed up to Potter's hands, which were prodding into Potter's eyes at the moment, and he felt the slight tingling sensation that one felt whenever wandless wizardry was performed. _'Is Potter wearing a glamour?' _Draco wondered to himself. He made a mental note to check up on that later, then turned to the group of adults and greeted them in return.

Draco wasn't the only one keeping an eye on Harry. Ron and Hermione stood off to one side of the group of adults, with Ginny, Fred, George and Neville standing there with them. Neville and Ginny were directing glares toward Draco (they never had quite gotten used to him the previous year, though he spent most free time with them in the Room of Requirement, learning the newest and strongest techniques of Defense), while Hermione's eyes didn't miss a single movement of Harry's body. She also caught site of the blood.

'_Harry's magical barriers are weakening,' _she thought in worry. _'This can't be good.'_

Ron glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye and wondered exactly what she knew.

…

…

…

After all of the initial greetings of Malfoy were over with, everyone gathered in the kitchen again to finish their brunch where it had left off. Neville sat by Ginny, who sat by Ron. Ron sat across from Hermione, who had attempted to sit by Harry but had not succeeded because Harry had sat at the edge of the table, and Draco had taken the spot right next to him. So now Hermione was sitting by Draco, glowering and poking at her scrambled eggs.

"You gonna ea' those?" Ron asked, his mouth already stuffed to the brink with food as he attempted to shovel more in.

Hermione shook her head absentmindedly and looked towards Harry. "Hey, Harry, could you pass the salt?" She asked, desperate to have any contact from Harry whatsoever.

Harry grunted, picked up the salt, and handed it to a bewildered looking Malfoy. Draco blinked, then handed the salt shaker to Hermione, before gluing his eyes to Harry once again in observation.

Harry was pretending to sip on his pumpkin juice and had almost succeeded in vanishing all of his food with his wand from under the table, when he caught Draco's eyes staring intently at him. "What?" Harry snapped, pocketing his wand and deciding to leave the remainder of his food on the plate. He slammed his goblet of pumpkin juice down on the table a little more forcefully than necessary before turning his glare to Malfoy.

Malfoy just shook his head and looked down at his own meal. Tonks looked down at Harry from her end of the table and smiled proudly. "You're finished already, Harry?" She asked, her eyes sparkling. "Care for another helping?"

Harry shook his head frantically. "Can't," he said after a while. He lowered his hands to cup his stomach and rubbed softly, careful not to touch his bruises. "I'm stuffed."

Tonks nodded and turned back to her conversation with Snape and Remus. When everyone was finished, Harry stayed at the table and rested his head on it. Everyone else left the room to help Molly get the place back to her standards of clean, and Harry was left alone with Draco, who was still finishing his meal because he had arrived late.

Harry could feel breath on the back of his neck and he lifted his head to glare angrily at Draco. Draco's eyes filled with an emotion that Harry couldn't quite place, and Harry wondered exactly what it was. "What?" He asked after a while.

Draco licked his lips, stood, and said, "Your glamour's fading," before he left the room to meet up with everyone else.

Harry blinked, then glared at the empty doorway that Draco had just gone out of. "Hey, Malfoy!" Harry called. He got no response. "I'm not wearing a glamour!"


	7. Collapse

**Chapter Seven **

**Collapse**

Draco continued to watch Harry as the day progressed. Harry seemed rather consumed with thoughts of something or other, and throughout the day, his glamour continued to become weaker and weaker. Draco couldn't figure out why Harry was wearing a glamour, but he was rather curious as to what had happened to make Harry angry with that mud blood Granger girl.

Currently, Harry was sitting on his bed, arms wrapped tightly around his legs while Ron and Ginny Weasley played exploding snap and Hermione sat on Ron's bed, watching Harry closely. Draco was seated near the doorway, watching all activities disinterestedly. Ron had invited him to play exploding snap (rather grudgingly, under much prodding from Ginny) a couple of hours before, but Draco had declined. It was obvious that he hadn't wanted to join, and he really didn't want to do anything with any of the Weasleys.

Harry was absentmindedly picking at something on his arm that Draco couldn't see. Draco's brow scrunched up in thought as his eyes focused harder on Harry and he tried to figure out what it was that he was doing to entertain himself. He was obviously ignoring Granger, and whenever asked a question, he just grunted in response. His eyes were quite empty, and the emotionless way in which he looked at Draco sent chills down his spine, though most of the time Harry kept his eyes averted from anyone and everyone.

As the sun sank lower beneath the horizon, Harry's glamour began to wear even thinner, until it was just a thin sheet of shimmering shield. When he looked at Harry, Draco could nearly see through the glamour, but not quite. He blinked in confusion as he noticed that Harry's lip had never actually stopped bleeding, and had actually become worse. And there was some type of nasty crimson colored linen about Harry's forehead.

Draco looked over to Hermione, who met his eyes worriedly. She mouthed something that he couldn't quite understand, so he sighed and stood to walk over to the bed she was seated on. Hermione scooted over and Draco perched warily on the edge of the bed, ready to spring up at any moment.

"Why's he wearing a glamour?" Draco asked after a long awkward silence.

Hermione met his eyes, her own muddy brown watering slightly. "His…his uncle beat him up…badly. And…we have reason to believe that he's been raped, as well."

Draco's eyes widened and Hermione nodded sadly, her eyes going back to their hawk-like surveillance of Harry. After an even longer awkward silence, Draco spoke up again.

"He was aped by his own uncle?" His eyes were wide and he found it completely hard to believe that a family member could do something like that to one of their own. Of course, both of his parents were Death Eaters and things like this happened to muggle families all the time, but they tended to spare him the details, and he never asked. Though some people would doubt it, Draco led a rather sheltered life.

Hermione sniffed as a tear fell. "It's my fault, really," She said sadly, looking down when Ron shouted joyously and jumped to his feet, pointing at Ginny grinning in victory. Harry sighed and turned his back on them, facing the wall. Seconds later, Harry's shoulders began to shake violently as he began to cry.

Draco eyed him curiously, torn between comforting him and continuing on with his conversation with Hermione.

Hermione seemed to be ignoring Harry's outburst, so Draco settled for the latter.

"What do you mean that it's your fault?"

"Well," Hermione took a deep breath before continuing. "Harry…Harry sent me a letter earlier this summer. The first time his uncle raped him, I think. But I hardly read it…I just skimmed it, and I didn't believe him. He's…always been so desperate to get out of his uncle's house during the summer. I've always doubted that he'd ever go back after our last year at Hogwarts. So I just thought he was pulling my leg."

Draco's brow furrowed as he looked over at Harry. Harry's body was still trembling, but it was hard to tell if it was from tears or from something else. The glamour was almost completely gone now.

Why wasn't Harry replacing it? Why was he just sitting there with his back to them, his shirt torn and tattered and bloodstained?

…The glamour had completely faded now. Draco stared in surprise at Harry, unable to take his eyes from the battered and broken image that Harry made. "Harry?" Draco asked, as he stepped towards the bed that Harry was sitting on.

Harry remained unresponsive as Draco stepped closer to the bed. "Harry, are you okay?"

Harry turned to look tearfully at Draco. "It…hurts," He moaned out after a long silence.

He then abruptly collapsed on the bed, moaning and still shaking slightly.

Hermione gasped and Ron and Ginny looked up at the bed in surprise. "Harry!" Ginny cried, racing to the bed and dropping to her knees next to it. "Harry, what's wrong? Harry?"

Harry looked at her with regret in his eyes. "Ginny…" Harry groaned softly and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his eyes were a vivid green that shone in pain. "I'm…so…sorry."

"Sorry?" Ginny clenched Harry's hand desperately. "Sorry for what?" When Harry's eyes began to drift shut again, Ginny began to freak out. "No, Harry! Stay awake! Stay with us, okay? Please!"

Hermione shot to her feet. "Ron," She commanded, pointing towards the doorway. "Go get your father. Harry needs to be taken to St. Mungo's." Ron glanced at Hermione bewilderedly. "Now!" Hermione demanded, and Ron shot to his feet quickly and scurried out the door.

Ginny desperately shook Harry's hand, but Harry didn't respond. His eyelids didn't so much as flutter when she cried his name into his face. "Harry! Harry, what are you sorry for? Harry? Harry!"

Hermione sighed and yanked Ginny's hand away from Harry's. "Let go of him, you prat. He's in pain, you're only making it worse," Ginny glared at Hermione, but relented.

Hermione stood over Harry's prone body. He was beginning to sweat slightly, and he was burning up. His face was flushed, his lips parted as he struggled to breathe.

Seconds later, Molly Weasley rushed in, pushing everyone in the room aside in her rush to the bed that Harry was sprawled on. Arthur was only footsteps behind her, followed by Severus Snape, and bringing up the tail was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Molly immediately levitated Harry's body into the air and out of the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying in every direction as she quickly followed Harry's floating body out of the room.

Arthur and Snape followed, but Dumbledore stayed in the room with the rest of the teens. "Can anyone tell me exactly what has happened here?" He asked quickly. Hermione volunteered.

"Quickly, please, Miss Granger, so that we can go and see how our young Mr. Potter is doing."

…  
…  
…

When Hermione had finished her explanation, Dumbledore nodded in understanding and ushered them out of the house, prodding them to apparate directly to St. Mungo's immediately. Of course, Draco and he stayed behind as everyone else left the house.

As the hours passed, Draco became more and more fidgety. What exactly had happened to Harry to make him collapse as he had?

That was the question directly in Draco's mind, though he was quite sure that Dumbledore had known exactly what was going on the moment that Granger had opened her huge mouth.

Draco could hear someone coming up behind him, but he ignored the sound as he stared out the window, waiting desperately for some word about the boy who had collapsed.

A throat cleared, and Draco sighed as he was forced to turn around and face Dumbledore. "Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said after a long pause. "I believe that Mr. Potter is doing just fine now."

Draco pulled a face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've been wondering, haven't you?" Dumbledore tilted his head questioningly and Draco sighed.

"Yes, sir."

"I've just received word that Harry is doing just fine. You can stop worrying now." Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling mysteriously.

"Well, that's great," Draco mocked. "Thanks."

Dumbledore just smiled peculiarly, his head cocked and his damned eyes still twinkling. Draco sighed in frustration. "What?"

"Well, I've just been thinking that maybe you've been wondering as to what has caused Mr. Potter to collapse."

Draco rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to the window. "Yes," he said, gaze unwavering.

"It's okay to wonder these things, Mr. Malfoy. I assure you, you won't get killed for being curious."

Draco shot him a questioning look, and Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, perhaps I'm wrong. After all, curiosity killed the cat, did it not?" Draco pretended to ignore him, and Dumbledore continued as though they were discussing the weather. "As you well know, Mr. Potter has been…ah, abused." He paused, but when Draco didn't respond, the former headmaster continued. "When he contacted Ms. Granger about this, she refused to believe anything of the sort. Of course, though her reasoning may have been a bit off, she did have reason for thinking the way that she did.

"However, because of her reasoning, Mr. Potter continued to be abused. This lead to the decision that he had to wear a glamour when he came here, so as to hide the way he had been treated. As you may, or may not, understand, Mr. Potter is ashamed of the way he has been treated. He is ashamed that he allowed himself to be treated that way.

"In effect, Mr. Potter's magical barriers weakened every moment that the glamour was used. Of course, they may not have been affected at all if he hadn't been abused as he had, but the fact remains that he was already weak to begin with, and using the glamour just weakened his strengths even more."

Draco's gaze was drawn towards Dumbledore as he explained, and Draco stared at him in awe when he was finished.

"Potter's gone through all of this…and he hasn't told anyone?" Draco hadn't wanted to ask the question, but it had just slipped out. Immediately, Draco flushed a bright pink and clamped his mouth shut. Dumbledore smiled at him, his eyes twinkling even more than before.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Malfoy, that this is true."

Draco sighed and gazed out the window again. "Will he be able to come back soon, then?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said. "His magical abilities must be replenished completely before he can come back,"

Draco nodded in understanding. Dumbledore sat on the couch across from Draco and stared idly at him.

"He'll be okay, then?" Draco asked, though he was trying hard to show that he didn't care. His jaw was set and his eyes hard as he assumed the façade he had been practicing since the age of three.

Dumbledore's smile drifted away slightly. "We can't be sure at the moment. Mr. Potter has taken a lot of damage, not only to his physical being, but also emotionally. Not to mention the magical damage it has caused him." Dumbledore's lips pressed into a grim line as he stared over Draco's shoulder and out the window as well.

Draco perked a brow and glanced at Dumbledore curiously. "There's been other magical damage?" he asked, his attention drawn completely to the conversation at hand now.

Dumbledore sighed grimly. "I'm afraid so. Harry's magic attempted to heal him while he was damaged. When he began using the glamour, his magical abilities were pulled towards covering up his wounds instead of attempting to heal them. This caused a sort of implode of sorts between his glamour covering up his damages and his healing powers trying to make the glamour go away in order to heal him completely.

"Unfortunately, this has caused more damages internally, not that Mr. Potter hadn't had any internal damages before hand."

Draco's mouth dropped open and he closed it with a snap. "Harry's magical abilities have imploded?" he asked in shock.

Dumbledore shot him a small half-smile. "Something like that, yes. I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, it's not as horrid as it may seem,"

"Have you gone mad?" Draco asked, his mouth hanging open once again. "How can it not be as bad as it seems? Harry's only family has brutally _raped_ him, and you're saying it's not as bad as it seems? Har-er, Potter could be scarred for life!"

Dumbledore's half-smile turned into an all out grin. "I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, it truly isn't as bad as you're making it out to be. Anything similar could happen when one over-exerts himself! Of course, the damages may not be quite as extending, but Harry can be healed."

Draco snorted and crossed his arms before going back to staring out the window with a mumbled, "Whatever,"

Dumbledore's features softened as his eyes fell upon Draco again. "Mr. Potter is a very strong individual," he commented, before standing and leaving the room. Draco stared silently after him.

…  
…  
…

Hermione burst into the door two hours later, Ron following after her much quieter. "Professor!" Hermione called out as she raced up the stairs. Ron followed her with a slower pace, and was too slow to get away from Mrs. Black's shrieking cries.

"Blood traitors, the lot of you! I swear! You go tromping about without a second thought towards anyone! You all 'ought to have been drowned at birth!" She was cut off immediately when Mrs. Weasley stormed in after Ron, slamming the door in her wake. She stomped directly up to the screaming portrait and spit directly in Mrs. Black's furry-filled face.

Mrs. Black stared at Mrs. Weasley in stunned silence for a few moments before breaking out in shrieks again. "Blood traitor! How dare you spit upon me, you filth! I'll teach you to-"

"Shut the bloody hell _up_!" Mrs. Weasley cried at the top of her lungs, her eyes burning in pent up anger.

Mrs. Black's mouth opened in protest, but Mrs. Weasley glared harshly at her and raised her wand threateningly. Mrs. Black immediately shut up.

Mrs. Weasley nodded in satisfaction and disappeared into the kitchen.

Draco stood on the landing of the stairs and stared at the portrait of Mrs. Black in awe. Then he smirked at her and sprinted up the stairs after Hermione.

When he got to Hermione's room, Hermione was hurriedly pacing back and forth, ranting to Ron about the horrid food that they were feeding Harry. Draco leaned against the door frame and stared at her questioningly.

Hermione turned to him, her jaw set and her eyes blazing. "It's all my fault," she said, glaring heatedly at Draco. Draco blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"I should have stopped him from using the glamour. I knew that his magic was wavering, I just thought that he would be smart enough to realize it and would stop." Hermione collapsed onto her bed with a sigh. "I always overestimate them," she admitted, her arm flung over her eyes.

"You overestimate who?" Draco asked curiously.

Hermione lifted her arm to glare at Draco condescendingly. "Harry and Ron, of course," she explained. "I always think the best of them; I suppose I'm like a mother to them in a sense." She sighed and covered her face with her hand again, leaving Draco to stare at her.

"But aren't you and the Weasel a couple?" Draco asked, eyeing Ron questioningly. Ron glanced at Hermione, a hurt look slashing across his face, and he quickly made his way out of the room while she wasn't paying attention to him.

Hermione was silent for a few moments before she sighed once again. "I was just using that as an example. I just hope that Harry will get the help he needs at St. Mungo's. I mean, school starts awfully soon; maybe he'll be released before then. He always has been a strong wizard."

Draco nodded. "But it's not like I can go back to school. I'll have to stay here with Dumbledore and Snape for the remainder of the war, at least."

Hermione sat up and smiled. "You'll be like Sirius in a way. Harry always wrote to him." Her eyes became unfocused as she floated off on some fond memories.

"What are you getting at?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Well, maybe he'll write to you, too?" she decided hopefully.

Draco snorted. "I doubt it. I'm not like an uncle to him, fortunately for me."

Hermione's smile widened. "Yes," she said after a while. "But that could all work out on the positive side for us,"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, ever since the incident with Cho in the fifth year, I've had suspicions about Harry's sexuality." Hermione said as she pondered.

"What are you talking about?" Draco demanded. "I'm not gay!"

Hermione blinked. "But I thought-"

"Harry's far too traumatized anyway to be even thinking about sex! You do know that he was raped, don't you? Just think of the affect it might have on him if he found out that you were already trying to pin him up with someone!"

Hermione sighed wistfully. "I know, and I know all the affects that rape can have on a person. I just think that a stable relationship would help him-"

"Don't even think about it, Granger!" Draco cried out as he attempted to leave the room.

"But Draco, don't you see? You-"

"I am not attracted to Potter!" Draco yelled angrily before he stormed out of the room.

…  
…  
…

Later that night, Draco lay on his bed, pondering over exactly what Hermione had been trying to get at. Perhaps it would help Harry through some of his trauma if he was in a stable relationship with someone that he could trust, but he would never be able to trust Draco.

But Draco wasn't gay! And even if he was gay, he would never be attracted to the Boy-Who-Lived! Potter just wasn't his type. It was true that Draco had never questioned his sexuality. Neither had his parents or any of his friends. But now that he was alone, the things that Granger had said were starting to have an effect.

There had been a few times in his life when he had had some homosexual thoughts, but he had always brushed them off. He was still attracted to girls! He always had been!

But the fact could not go unlooked that he had always found a very peculiar interest in staring at another male's bum - just to compare, mind you!

And besides, even if Draco was attracted to Potter, it would never work out!


	8. I Wasn't Raped, Councilor

**Chapter Eight**

**I Wasn't Raped, Councilor**

The door to Harry's room creaked open slowly and two figures crept in silently. Shadows swept over the room quickly as the figures swept towards Harry's bed. The figures hovered over Harry's prone body and stared at him in eerie silence.

Harry could feel eyes on him that sent chills down his spine, and he struggled against all of the potions that had been forced into his body to open his eyes to see whom it was. He opened them just in time to see a third figure sweeping out from under some type of cloak that hindered people from seeing him.

Someone muttered a soft spell and immediately, a wand lit up with a soft blue light. "Harry, are you awake?" a feminine voice from somewhere to his right made Harry struggle against the many restraints that held him to the bed.

A second voice joined the first, this one more scornful. "Of course he's awake, you prat. He's moving, isn't he?"

The voices sounded familiar, but Harry couldn't place them through the haze he was floating in because of all of the potions and other healing remedies that were flooding through his blood system.

A third voice joined the others, this one much snappier. "Shut up, the both of you. Do you want to be caught? You know we're not supposed to be here."

A shadow loomed directly over Harry's face, so dark that Harry couldn't make out the face that belonged to the tall body. A scoff was breathed directly in his face, the breath smelling like old, rotten onions, and Harry struggled to hold his breath. "They're doing it all wrong. That IV goes there, and they're using a completely wrong potion to restore his healing abilities.

"Honestly, they must be using trainees for this job. Do they not understand how crucial it is that they restore his magic as quickly and precisely as possible?"

There was a rough tugging somewhere in Harry's arm area, though Harry could barely feel it because of the numbing potion he had been forced to take earlier that afternoon. Suddenly, there was a sharp prod somewhere near his hipbone as a needle was thrust into his skin, and Harry moaned at the new pain, arching into the soft, cold touch of long, bony fingers.

The fingers lingered for a few extra moments, before quickly drawing away. A sharp intake of breath from the female could be heard as Harry slowly regained the feeling in his body. Fingers were whispering across his body quickly, repairing screwed up IV's here and forcing more potions down Harry's relaxed throat.

"Do you think he knows we're here?" the feminine voice asked as she approached Harry's bedside and clasped on to his hand tightly.

"Shut up, Granger," the second voice hissed as the third person flicked a switch connected to one of the machines that were connected to Harry. The magical power that was flowing through a thin clear tube into Harry's mouth turned immediately from red to green.

The first person - Hermione? - gasped as the color changed, and Harry struggled against the restraints on his wrists that held him tightly to the bed to keep him from yanking the machinery from his body as he choked slightly as the magic that was being pumped into him began to flow down his throat more easily.

"What does that do?" The girl hissed, and the second person sighed.

The third man, the snappy one, stepped away from Harry, hands on his hips. "It makes his magical shield stronger. Considering the emotional damage that Potter has taken, he won't be released until he is completely healed; I cannot guarantee that there won't be emotional scars, but he should be released in at least two weeks."

The girl's hand tightened around Harry's, and she sighed. "At least he'll be better soon," she said after a few moments.

The warmth encircling Harry's hand went away moments later, and the three figures retreated towards the door. The girl and the tall figure left first, but the second stood there in the doorway, staring at Harry silently.

After a few moments, Harry's eyes began to focus on bright, blonde hair and worried grey eyes before the figure flung the cloak over himself and disappeared into the darkness. "Draco?" Harry croaked, before he was once again pulled into unconsciousness.

…

…

…

Draco held his breath as he watched Harry drift back to sleep, then let it out in a slow, soft whoosh. He crept out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him. He was greeted with the sight of Hermione standing there with her hands on her hips and Snape with his lips pursed into a thin, almost non-visible line.

"He's doing okay, right?" Hermione asked, gnawing on her lower lip slightly as she worried over Harry's well-being.

Snape shook his head. "He was doing a lot better, but he's going to be much better off after our modifications," he said, trying to console her as much as he dared without showing any of his own emotion.

Hermione sighed in relief and she nodded. "What was so wrong about what they were doing?" she asked.

Snape gave her a condescending look, and he rolled his eyes.

"Are you mad?" Draco asked softly as he approached them. "The IV that was in his wrist would have completely shut down his nervous system if it had stayed there for too long."

"But why?"

At times, despite her vast knowledge, Hermione reminded Draco of a young child. He sighed and grasped her arm tightly as he began to lead her down the long corridor.

"Because," he said in exasperation. "The particular IV they were using was to restore his barriers to full health. If the potion that was being used was put directly in his blood stream for too long, he would surely become worse. Severus was following procedure, Granger. If you don't appreciate that, I suppose you'd like for your precious Potter to die then, would you?"

Hermione stopped where she was and sighed. "No. It's just that we still haven't quite gotten over the whole 'blame Snape' thing since first year."

Snape snorted and brushed past Hermione, and she sighed again. "Well, he _did _kill Dumbledore," she said in defence after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

…

…

…

"How did everything go?" Mrs. Weasley greeted them at the door, her brow furrowed in worry. Everyone crowded in behind her and glanced over her shoulder, straining to hear every word that was said.

Snape gave a swift nod and swept past Mrs. Weasley and into the kitchen. "Tea," he demanded of the two house elves who were listening at the door. They shrieked and scrambled away before anyone else followed in after him.

Mrs. Weasley gave a sigh of relief as she followed Snape, the rest of the residents crowding in after her. "No one found out?" she asked, her eyes pleading with him.

Snape shook his head and downed the tea that was handed to him in one gulp. "Everything went as planned. They were doing it completely wrong; I believe that we've knocked off at least two weeks of his hospital stay. You were completely right, Molly."

Molly's breath hissed through her teeth as she collapsed onto a straight-backed, hard wooden chair. "I told them they were doing it wrong. Of course, trust the people at St. Mungo's to put trainees in charge of Harry's health. What if they had killed him?" She asked, her face weary with worry and her hands fretting over a wrinkle in her apron.

Hermione sighed and sat down beside Molly. "He'll be fine, Molly." she reassured, placing a hand on Molly's shoulder comfortingly.

Molly looked up at Hermione, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What has put him in this position, though?" she asked. She had some ideas, but she didn't want to place blame where blame was undeserved.

Hermione drew her hand away and clamped her hands together in her lap underneath the table. Her cheeks flushed and she averted her eyes. "Uh…it…it was my fault."

All eyes fell on her, prodding her to explain without saying a word.

"You see…Harry wrote to me this summer. His uncle…his uncle had abused him. And I, uh…I didn't believe him. So he put up a glamour, and uh…well…yeah."

Hermione was beet red now, and her hands went up to her face to cover her embarrassed features.

"I just…I should have believed him," she sobbed.

Everyone was silent as they stared at Hermione. This time, Molly placed a consoling hand on Hermione's shoulder. "You can't blame yourself," she said, her voice a mere murmur.

Molly glared up at everyone in the room, telling them to leave without saying anything at all. She pulled Hermione into a tight hug, and together, they both shared a cry for what should have been, and the struggles that were yet to come.

…

…

…

Harry's eyes cracked open to the sight of many bunches of flowers, balloons, and get well cards covering every square inch of his room. He groaned as his eyes were prodded violently into by the sunlight the morning bore. He tried to roll over, but a sharp, harsh pain in his left hip and the restraints that were holding him down hindered his movement.

He groaned and closed his eyes once more, trying to shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Why was he in the hospital, again? He couldn't quite remember. Maybe he had gotten hurt during Quidditch? Yes, that had to be it.

He opened his eyes once more, but the surroundings didn't become any more familiar than they had been the first time he had opened them. He knew that he was in a hospital, but _which _hospital? The hospital wasn't at all familiar. Obviously, Harry wasn't in the hospital wing in Hogwarts. His heart sank in his chest as memories began to come back to him.

The last thing Harry had been able to remember was writing to Hermione. But Hermione hadn't believed him. Harry scowled bitterly as he remembered the light-hearted letter that he had received in return; but wait! Harry would be going to the Weasley's soon! He would be out of here soon!

Any minute now, the Weasleys would come bursting through the hospital doors, demanding that they release Harry; they might even substitute some of the nurses' memories of Harry arriving to the hospital to memories of them enjoying a nice evening off.

Taking a deep breath, Harry mustered his voice to shout for the nurse in charge, but all he could manage was a pained grunt. "Ugh,"

The position he was in was rather uncomfortable; Harry had never quite been able to understand people who could sleep on their backs. He found it much more comfortable to sleep on his side; he had grown so accustomed to sleeping on his side that most nights he found it difficult for him to fall asleep otherwise.

Once more, he tried to summon his voice to call the nurse, but to no avail. Harry growled in the back of his throat angrily, and that was when he noticed that something was shoved the whole way down it. Well, perhaps that was why he couldn't talk, then.

His eye twitched in frustration, and he looked around the room, suddenly feeling very small and lost in all the clutter. Once again he closed his eyes and imagined that he was back a the burrow. Molly was in the kitchen, making a large feast for her large family, and Harry and Ron were up in Ron's room, playing a rather competitive game of Exploding Snap.

Hermione was relaxed on Ron's bed, reading a book, and Ginny was writing a letter to her current boyfriend; Harry had lost count after her fifth, but he was sure that she was probably up to at least her tenth by now, despite the summer season interfering with the way she and her boyfriend-of-the-moment communicated.

Harry smiled softly at his little imaginary world, but he knew that things weren't the way that he wanted them to be. With a groan, Harry opened his eyes, giving up on his fantasy.

"Well hello there, dearie. You're doing much better, I assume? Sorry about the mix up with your potions last night; Mrs. Weasley pointed it out to us and everything is righted now. Of course, you probably wouldn't remember any of this because you've been out for quite a while,"

Harry gazed at the peculiar woman bustling around the room curiously. He couldn't speak, so the woman continued to bustle about, righting some of the cords that were connected to his body, checking the tube that was pumping peculiar tasting air into his lungs.

The woman stopped bustling about and stopped for a few moments to stare intently at Harry. "Hmmm," she began, watching a monitor as it flickered. Harry had no idea what the screen was showing her, because he couldn't understand it, but apparently, she did, because she turned to him with a soft smile. "Much better than when you first came in. If we leave you connected to this for a couple more days, you should be up to nearly full health,"

The woman smiled warmly at him; actually, the smile never seemed to leave her face. With a wave of a wand that she seemed to have pulled from thin air, the restraints around Harry's wrists disappeared. Harry stared at her in awe.

'She's a witch!' he thought in confusion.

"How do you feel there, sweetie?" she asked kindly as she moved some of the balloons, flowers and sweets with her wand to clear the room up a little. "Okay?"

Harry nodded and she smiled. "A special visitor should be coming up to visit you later on in the day. She's going to help you out with any problems that you may have. Your breakfast will be sent up in a few minutes; you must be starving!"

With that, the happy little Mediwitch bustled out of the room, the door closing swiftly and softly behind her.

…

…

…

"Hello, Harry."

Harry pried his eyes open to stare into the doorway, where a short, redheaded something witch was standing. She looked to be about twenty-something; her hair was sleek and straight, pulled back into a business-like bun, long bangs hanging into her eyes. She wore a pair of thick-framed glasses, which she was looking over the rim of, and her brown eyes shone with a knowing light. She was dressed in very business-like attire that consisted of a kohl-colored pencil skirt that fell to her knees with a slit up the side that led to just before mid thigh, a white dress shirt that was covered by a kohl-colored suit jacket. She looked very lawyer-ish.

Her skin was a perfect, flawless creamy white color, her makeup applied just so - barely there. She held a clipboard in her left hand, and she was holding a quill in her right, the tip of which she was sucking on gently.

"I hear you've been doing much better," she said as she took a seat beside Harry's bedside. "Is this so?"

Harry nodded and she smiled softly. "I see. Let's get rid of that, shall we? Just for now, mind you," With a quick wave of the woman's hand, the tube that was stuck halfway down Harry's throat was gone. "Much better. Now then, my name's Alicia. I'm here to help you. What is the first thing you remember before coming here?"

Harry averted his eyes and kept silent, and Alicia raised her eyebrows and jotted down something with her quill. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me," she said, her voice soft and consoling. "Do you want me to help you?"

Harry looked at her, his throat sore, and he shook his head.

"No?"

His voice, when he attempted to use it, was hoarse and it was hard to determine what he was saying, though somehow, Alicia managed. "No,"

"Why not?" Alicia's eyebrows were scrunched together thoughtfully as the quill she was writing with quickly flew across the piece of parchment that was held in place by her clipboard.

"I don't need your help,"

Alicia nodded in understanding. Her quill stopped racing across her parchment, and she glanced up at Harry. "I see," she said, the quill tip finding itself back between her lips once again.

Harry thought that she was going to leave, but Alicia remained in the chair that she had seated herself in. "Well then, I won't help you. But we still need to talk."

"What about?" Harry glared at her, then looked away, feeling very vulnerable in the bed, unable to leave it.

"Anything, really. Allow me to start; I'm a councilor. I'm here for your emotional pain; I understand that you've been raped?"

Harry's eyes widened and he sat up swiftly, his heart and head pounding. "No! I wasn't raped! Who told you that?" his voice was panicked, his eyes wide and fearful.

Alicia breathed in deeply, her eyes closing temporarily as she thought over what she wanted to say, then exhaled slowly. "Harry, why do you think you're here?"

Harry's mouth fell open, and he began to pant slightly as he scoured his mind for memories that just weren't there.

The door to Harry's hospital room swept open silently and someone in the doorway cleared their throat. "Are you almost done here, Alicia?" A feminine voice asked, and Harry's head jerked towards the familiar voice. Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorframe, an angry expression plastered on her face.

**A/N:** Wow, I was completely knocked off of my feet by the response I recieved when I posted that update; it was quite inspirational! So here's that next chapter, four days earlier than planned! Keep up the great reviews, and maybe there'll be more than two updates this week. (This is a short chapter, and I appologize for that, but hopefully the next one will be longer.)

I can't believe how many people have stuck by this fic, even after it took me up to two months to update, and because of that, I'm super sorry! I've just lost my muse for this fic lately, but it seems to be coming back. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, please contine to do so; this chapter is dedicated to everyone who has reviewed, and/or plans on reviewing.


	9. Remembering

**A/N: **Many people have been wondering about what happened the first time Draco went to Number Twelve, and a lot have been confused as to whether or not Dumbledore was killed. I would just like to inform everyone that in the previous chapters those little tidbits were a bit of back-story-ing. I hope that everything will be revealed in this chapter.

If anyone has any more questions, please don't hesitate to ask; sometimes, I can understand perfectly something that may seem quite confusing to the general public. Of course, maybe that's because not everyone's as crazy as I am, or maybe it's just because they can't dissect my mind and figure out what's going on in there. Nevertheless, whatever the case may be…uh, yeah, you get the point. This is probably getting somewhat annoying now. I'll bet you want to get on with the fic, right? Well, here you go then!

**Chapter Nine**

**Remembering**

"Of course, Molly," Alicia shot Molly a cool smile, standing and patting Harry on the shoulder. "If you ever feel the need to talk, you can find me here," with a wave of her quill, a thin slip of parchment appeared in her hand and she set it on the bedside table. She smiled once more at Harry, then walked to the door.

Molly rushed in and grabbed Harry's hand immediately. "Oh, Harry, dear. You're all right, aren't you?"

Alicia waved at Harry gently, and as she walked out of the room, the tube that had been in Harry's mouth reappeared.

…

…

…

Draco woke up that morning with a yawn. The sun was shining brightly on his face, causing him to clench his assaulted eyes shut so that he wouldn't be blinded. He groaned and yanked the covers over his head again, and even though he wasn't tired, he fell back asleep in seconds, snuggling deeply down into the soft covers.

And he dreamed…

_He and Severus were running, running, running. They had nowhere to hide, and nothing but their wands as protection. In any other case, a normal wizard would be frightened for his life; but they weren't. They had the protection of both the dark and the light sides, and they were safe. _

_Of course, they weren't as safe as they'd like to be, but for now, the safeness they had was safeness that they were more than willing to take. _

_They had just pulled it off; Dumbledore had apparated back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place seconds after Snape had thrown a protection spell at him. Of course, to any other wizard, the curse had sounded and looked like one of the deadly sort, but no one knew any better. After all, Snape was a former Death Eater; he was not to be trusted. _

_And so they were running, running, running. For now, they were seeking the protection of the Dark side; they were trying to pull off something that had never been pulled off before. They were trying to fool the Dark Lord. _

_As they ran, Draco couldn't help but wonder if they would get away with it. Voldemort was one of the best mind-reading wizards of all time; would he be able to see straight through their lies? Draco could only hope that he couldn't. _

_And all of a sudden, he was falling, falling, falling. He landed with a thud and a soft grunt. Snape looked down at him, his eyes panicked. 'Get up, Draco! We haven't time! We've got to report to the Dark Lord; he will be suspicious!'_

_Draco groaned and slowly pulled himself up, Snape yanking on his arm and pulling him swiftly behind him. 'Run, Draco!'_

_Draco was running out of energy quickly, the small amount of breakfast that he had managed to choke down hardly enough to keep him energized, and it was starting to work its way up. _

_And they were running, running, running. _

_The running went on forever. By the time Snape allowed him to stop, Draco's legs were ready to give out on him completely. But they were there. _

_The clearing looked like a normal place, but as soon as Draco stepped past the barriers, he could feel the magic flowing through him, replenishing his needs. Voldemort may be evil, but he also knew how to take care of his followers; though at times they needed punishment, most times they were treated like near-royalty. _

_The throbbing pain slowly left Draco's legs, his stomach stopped tossing, and his breathing immediately went back to normal. Suddenly, a house appeared in front of him. It was more of a cottage than it was anything else, but like most Wizarding things, you don't always see what you get. _

_The second the door was pulled open, Draco could tell that a very wealthy wizard lived here. And he was about to become a whole lot wealthier, with the news that the greatest wizard of the century had been murdered. _

_A malicious laugh filled the foyer that Draco and Severus stepped into; Voldemort stood on the landing of the stairs off to Draco's right, and he was grinning from ear to ear (if you could call it a grin; it looked like more of a grimace of pleasure to Draco). _

'_I take it you have succeeded, then?' the cold voice of Voldemort asked, and Draco could once again feel himself falling, falling, falling. _

**XXX**

Draco woke up with a start, flinging the covers from his sweating body in a flash as he leapt from the bed. Panting, he tried to regain his breath as he looked around; he was safe inside Grimmauld Place, but he couldn't stop the chill that crept up his spine whenever he remembered the events that had led up to this moment.

With a sigh, he allowed himself to once again collapse on the bed. The digital clock floating next to his bed said that it was nearly noon. Groaning, he covered his face with the pillow. He really wasn't in the mood to go and greet the Weasleys quite yet; they were probably still worried about Potter.

Draco's lips curled into a half sneer, half smirk as he remembered the night before, the night that could have changed Harry's life forever, just by giving him a chance to live. Draco's sneer turned to a full-fledged smile as a superior feeling settled in his gut, and slowly, he stood and stretched before making his way down the stairs.

Everyone was grouped in the kitchen, talking in hushed voices. A few plates of breakfast items were left in various places in the room, though most items on the plates looked crusty and stale.

Draco pulled a face at the meager food that looked half-edible (all of which were plates that Draco rather loathed).

Everyone seemed to be ignoring him, which suited him much better than anyone who didn't know him well would like to believe. Scowling slightly to himself, he sat heavily at the table and listened to the snippets of panicked conversation going on around him.

"Harry's lost his memory!" Hermione was exclaiming to a worried-looking Dumbledore.

"That wretched Alicia Slanky is his councilor; and _she's _supposed to help him get his memory back? The _nerve _of that woman!" Mrs. Weasley complained to a bored-looking Ronald, who was stabbing half-heartedly at the stale scrambled eggs on his plate.

Neville was staring at his own plate of breakfast, his expression somewhat disgusted. Draco was rather bored with the discussion going on around him, and without much other choice, he rather grudgingly sat by Neville and attempted to converse with him.

"When did you get here?"

Neville looked up from his food, his expression still equally disgusted. "Mrs. Weasley is really distraught today. Do you think Harry'll get his memory back?"

Draco rolled his eyes. So much for the conversation he had attempted to engage in. "Of course he will. They're probably not doing the correct treatment for him, that's all."

Neville shook his head. "I think it's a defense mechanism, to tell you the truth. Somewhere in there, Harry remembers. He just doesn't want to remember."

Draco's brow furrowed thoughtfully, before he nodded.

"I got here a little bit before Harry and the Weasleys." Neville said after a short bout of uncomfortable silence, mostly to appease Draco. "Actually, a week before them, to be exact. I'm really glad that they came, too. It was getting pretty boring around here. There's not much to do. Mrs. Weasley is going to be putting us to work cleaning soon."

Draco pulled a face and Neville smirked. "Payback's a bitch," he murmured before standing, grabbing a biscuit from in front of Draco, and walking out of the room.

Draco glared after Neville, who was acting quite uncharacteristic as of late, with a snort.

…

…

…

Taking heed of Neville's warning, Draco had quickly run off to his room in order to escape cleaning, a task that he had never once in his life been duty-bound to perform.

For most of the day, he hid beneath the covers of his lumpy, unfamiliar and uncomfortable bed. The two times someone had come in to recruit him for some of the heavy-duty work, he had cowered beneath his pillow and pretended to be asleep; there was no way he was going to ruin his nearly perfectly attended to hands with hard work!

It wasn't until nearly after midnight that Draco attempted to leave his room, and he was surprised to find that everyone was still rushing about, cleaning. All of the doxies were out of the upstairs rooms and the only ones left to disinfect were the downstairs rooms. Of course, they weren't even close to being finished, but a lot had been finished from the time they had started cleansing the home.

Even Mrs. Black seemed a bit happier. Of course, that might have been because the foyer she was hanging in had been re-papered earlier that day, and was much more pleasing to the eye now that the peeling wallpaper had been removed. Draco hadn't seen much of the top floor, but he was sure that they were nearly done up there since they were currently working in the foyer and downstairs rooms, which Mrs. Weasley had promised would be saved for last since there was more work to be tackled within them. She was hoping to have the kitchen disinfected and rearranged by the next day, along with having all of the floors waxed and polished - by hand.

Draco groaned and plopped himself down on the bottom step and watched as Ron laughed at Hermione and Ginny, who were basically the only ones working since the adults were in different rooms of the house, attending to work of their own.

Hermione glared at Ron and threw a very suspicious hex at him, which caused his nose to inflate to nearly four times its normal size before bursting out laughing herself, she and Ginny hanging on to each other as they collapsed in peals of laughter, holding their sides as though they would split at any minute.

Ron stared at his nose in horror as it grew larger than his face, before he began shrieking. This just caused the girls to laugh harder as the adults rushed into the room to see what the matter was. Fred and George, who were the first on the scene, gaped at Ron for a split-second, before turning to Hermione and giving her a congratulatory whoop. "We've got to make this into a Wizard Wheeze!" George cried in delight.

"I know," Fred said, his eyes glistening in humor. "A toffee! Just like the ton-tongue toffee!" He and George shared a wide grin, and seconds before their parents rushed into the foyer, they rushed out of it, sprouting ideas to one another as they sprinted past Draco and up the stairs to disappear into their room.

Hermione smiled at Draco triumphantly before turning back to her work. Draco raised an eyebrow and glanced at the horrified Ron, unable to hold in a soft chuckle. "Yes," Draco agreed finally, though it was a little late. "Payback certainly is a bitch."

…

…

…

The next day, Alicia visited Harry once again. "Hello, Harry," she greeted, seating herself in the chair that she had occupied the day before. Her outfit looked quite similar, though today it was in earth tones. Harry supposed that to have a job like hers was quite boring, and perhaps she had to wear something that went along with the job description.

This time she had brought a quick-quotes quill, and though Harry was rather suspicious of those types, he allowed it. Just like the day before, Alicia magic-ed away the tube stuck in Harry's throat before they began their session.

"They say that they can release you in about three days. You're so strong! You've made a large amount of improvement since you got here. You've made much more recovery in these three days than has been made by any normal wizard in three weeks.

Of course, they're hoping that you remember at least _something _before you're released, because it would be a rather shame if you didn't. Now, since I don't know where your memories end, I'm going to ask you a few questions about what you _do _remember. Is that all right?"

Harry nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement, and Alicia continued on. "Of course," she smiled softly at him and set a thick book of blank parchment on the bedside table, the quick-quotes quill hovering over it. "Now then, back to this summer. What did you do?"

"I, uh…stayed with my aunt and uncle."

"I see. Just for the record, what are their names?"

Harry stared at her for a few moments in curiosity, before stating clearly, "Petunia and Vernon Dursley. My cousin also lives there. His name's Dudley."

Alicia nodded. "Very good. What did you do at their home?"

"I stayed out of their way."

Alicia's brow furrowed. "Why would you do such a thing? They're relatives!"

"Yes, but they're very biased against wizards."

"Even you?"

"My mother was born the only witch in her family of muggles. I have a feeling that Aunt Petunia was jealous, but I've never asked."

"Hmm," Alicia stared for a moment at the acid-green quill that was racing across the parchment before asking another question. "While you were 'staying out of the way', what did you do for fun?"

"I didn't really do much," Harry stated, staring at the ceiling in reminiscence. "I cleaned the house, tended to Petunia's garden. Sometimes I went out and bought groceries."

"Was that fun?" Alicia asked, her face shifting into an unreadable mask of glistening eyes and pursed lips.

"Not really, no. For the most part I stayed in my room. I conversed regularly with Hermione and Ron via owl post. One day I got a rather strange letter in the mail…muggle mail." Harry's eyes clouded over and Alicia's eyes widened.

"What happened then?" She prodded gently, and Harry closed up slightly to her.

"Nothing,"

"But something had to of happened. Was the letter from a wizard?"

"No,"

"A witch?"

Harry looked away, his cheeks flushed brightly and his eyes glistening with tears. "Cho,"

"Cho?" Alicia watched Harry with blooming interest. "Who is Cho?"

"A…friend. At least, she _was _a friend."

"So this letter was unexpected?"

Harry remained unresponsive and Alicia sighed. "Very well. What was the letter about?"

"My…birthday," Harry's eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling as he thought back. "She wanted me to go somewhere."

"Where, Harry? Where did she want you to go?"

"I…I don't remember," Harry looked over at her, his eyes filled with anguish. "Please stop," he begged unexpectedly. "I don't want to remember. Please?"

Alicia's eyes softened. "I'm afraid I can't, Harry. I'm so sorry,"


	10. Withdrawal

**Chapter Ten**

**Withdrawal **

Harry lay on his hospital cot, staring up at the ceiling, thinking deeply. There wasn't much to do besides think, in a place where you were isolated all day. Sighing, he rolled over, punching his pillow with rage that had been building up over the days. He didn't _want _to be here, and he didn't _want _to speak with Alicia every day and no one else. He wanted to see Mrs. Weasley, Arthur, Ron, Hermione, _anyone_.

He was desperate for anyone's company; he would have even been thankful if Draco Malfoy showed up at his door sometime, and that was saying a lot. He hated Draco with all of his might; of course, it served him right for staging a murder and not letting anyone in on it.

The rational side of Harry understood why Draco, Snape and Dumbledore had kept it hidden from everyone; if Voldemort found out, all involved would be dead meat. And of course, they were doing it for the better good of Harry; if Harry were to defeat the Dark Lord, then the Dark Lord would have to be lured into a false state of security, so that Harry could strike unexpectedly. But still, Harry hated it, and he hated Draco.

He remembered the day that Draco had shown up on Number Twelve's doorstep, his clothes tattered and his face black with dirt. Harry hadn't known at the time that Dumbledore was still alive; he tackled Draco to the ground and proceeded to punch Draco violently in the face, tears streaming down his own all the while, unchecked and un-noticed.

"You bastard," Harry had cried. "You let Snape kill him, you killed him!" Harry had repeated the mantra until his voice was hoarse and his throat was raw, and he had continued to punch Draco in the face until he could no longer draw any strength from within. Draco lay on the ground in a bloodied pulp, his left eye already turning black, his nose oddly crooked, and bleeding profusely. "You bastard," Harry had managed one final whisper before he had collapsed on the ground beside the bloodied form.

Sobs had wracked his body then, wrenched forcibly from his frame against his will. He hadn't wanted to cry, he hadn't wanted to lose control. But lately, everything that had been happening had been out of his control, everything that had been happening had been something that he hadn't wanted to happen.

Hours later, or perhaps it had been minutes, Harry couldn't quite tell any more, Harry had been lying on his bed in his room, staring at the ceiling, quite similarly to the way he was staring at it now, and the door to his bedroom had creaked open.

"He's not dead, you know," Draco had whispered as he entered, looking normal except for a slight limp. Harry had glared at him angrily, wishing that he had hurt him more than he had but knowing that it was impossible to do much more damage in the state he was in; he had damaged himself more than he had damaged Draco, it seemed.

"What do you mean, 'he's not dead?'" Harry had spat, crossing his arms and wishing that Draco would trip over something and fall to his death.

"Dumbledore," Draco had said as he seated himself on the foot of Harry's bed, though the death glare that Harry had shot him clearly said that he was not welcome. "Snape didn't kill him."

"Well then, where is he?" Harry jumped to his feet as if scalded from merely being near Draco. "I was at his funeral, Malfoy! I was there, and I watched Snape kill him! You can't tell me that he's not dead!"

Draco had lowered his head and stared at his hands for a long while. "He's not dead," he had insisted, before silently shuffling out of the room.

Harry's anger had taken over him, then. Out of nowhere, a chair from one corner of his room flew up and smacked Draco harshly in the back of the head. Harry had heard a satisfying crack as Draco's neck snapped, and he had grinned triumphantly down at Draco's limp body. After long minutes, Harry had realized that Draco wasn't going to move, and he rushed out of his room to get help.

Harry shuddered at the remembrance. He didn't pride himself on his sporadic bursts of magic; no wizard in his right mind did. But he couldn't help but feeling that Draco had deserved it somehow, even though he knew that it wasn't quite true. But after all the times that Draco had taunted him, after all the times he had called Hermione 'Mud-blood' or Ron 'Weasel', how could he expect to be welcomed with open arms?

Harry sighed once more as he rolled to his side, and without a final thought, he fell asleep.

…

…

…

Alicia smiled at Harry sunnily later that day as she approached the chair beside his bed. As always, she set the thick book of parchment on the bedside table, along with the quick quotes quill hovering above it. "Hello, Harry," she greeted warmly. As always, she was dressed all business. And as always, her attitude threw that 'business woman' notion completely out the window. "Have you remembered anything?"

Harry averted his eyes and shook his head 'no'. "Ah, that's too bad," Alicia said sympathetically, patting him on the knee softly. "I've brought a visitor today," she added as an almost-afterthought. "I think that she may help jog your memory a bit. And she's really been missing you. She said that you've been in a previous relationship with her and that it didn't work out so well, but that she was willing to help you in any way possible. Do I smell young love in the air?" Alicia grinned and waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Harry's cheeks flushed in rage, which Alicia probably took for embarrassment, because she laughed a short, tinkling laugh that filled the room and sounded a little similar to wind chimes. "Come on in, Cho," she exclaimed as she went to the door and yanked it open to reveal who stood behind it.

Harry stiffed involuntarily. "Cho," he breathed, his eyes widening and becoming unfocused as he was thrown into a whirlpool of what could only be called memories that felt like they weren't his own.

_A pink letter fluttered down from thin, feminine fingers. A shriek was let out as loud footsteps pounded out of the room and Harry was left alone with the piece of parchment that had flapped to the ground. _

_Dark, long hair enveloped Harry's face as another face was pressed closer to his own, and soft lips were pressed against his in an awkward kiss that seemed to last forever. _

_A man. Thrusting and sweat and pain filled Harry's body to the brink and he cried out for salvation but no one came. Please! Please, someone help me! Don't let him do this to me! No, not like this! Please!_

Warm hands were pressed against Harry's cheeks, concerned brown eyes hovering in front of his face. "Harry, are you okay?"

Harry's eyes struggled to focus, but when they did, bright red hair clashed with pale skin, making Harry's eyes hurt. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and his tongue felt huge in his mouth.

"Harry, can you hear me?" A feminine voice was talking gently to him, and a bright light was being flashed in his eyes, but Harry was too far-gone, drifting into a world that only he could see, a world that would keep him safe.

"He's asleep," Alicia said, her brows furrowed. "I'm afraid you'll have to come back later, dear," Alicia smiled softly at Cho and ushered her out of the room.

"He'll be okay, won't he?" Cho asked.

Alicia hated to lie, and though she didn't quite know the answer to this question, she consoled the shaking young girl with a confirming nod. "Yes, dear, he'll be just fine. He only needs rest, is all."

But that wasn't true; Harry had been resting all week. He had told Alicia just the day before that he was tired of resting, that he wanted to get up from his bed and at least be allowed to walk around his ward. But of course, his internal injuries wouldn't permit it.

Harry's magical abilities were finally returned, and though they were weak, they were working at a quick pace to fix him up internally. In only a few more days, he would be able to walk around once more, and in about another week, he would be allowed to go home, amnesia or not.

But how would his emotions be affected? Alicia hated to think about what would happen once Harry was released from the hospital. He probably wouldn't continue to see her, that was for sure. But what was she to do? She couldn't keep him there against his will; he was an adult, for Merlin's sake!

Alicia raked her fingers through her hair frantically as she stared, concerned, into the peacefully resting face of the seventeen-year-old boy that she was attending to. Cases similar to his, though not very uncommon, were all different. Some boys coped better with things than others. Alicia had a feeling that this specific young man would need a lot of care and affection. But that was just something that she didn't have time for.

…

…

…

Draco stared down at the face of a sleeping Harry. Though it was against his better judgment, he had managed to sneak out of Number Twelve without being detected, with the aid of Harry's handy invisibility cloak. He knew that he probably shouldn't be there, but he had a feeling in his gut that that was what he was supposed to be doing.

The pale boy breathed in deeply of his own accord, the hair that had landed in his face fluttering with each breath. Draco was so proud of the progress that Harry had made; he was so strong. Draco knew that he never would have been able to go through what Harry had gone through. But he figured that the amnesia might help things go a bit smoother.

Perhaps Harry's memories were similar to selective hearing. He could remember what he wanted to, but blocked out all of the bad stuff. Draco wondered exactly how much Harry remembered. And he wondered if Harry would ever completely remember anything of the bad again. Of course, Harry might have been faking his amnesia, but Draco doubted it. Why would one put themselves through so much more than they had already been through? If Harry was doing it on purpose, he sure was digging a deeper grave than he would be able to get out of. But Draco had a feeling…

Draco rarely, actually _never_, followed gut feelings. But this was different. This was Harry. Harry was different. With Harry, you never knew which feeling to follow. In Draco, there was a natural born feeling of loathing that most Slytherins had towards Gryffindors. But this, also, was different.

And for some reason that Draco himself couldn't quite understand, he yearned to be close to Harry, to help Harry through it.

'I'm not attracted to Potter,' Draco assured himself as he loomed over the sleeping form of Harry. He wasn't wearing the invisibility cloak, though every nerve in his body told him that he probably should.

No, Draco rarely listened to his nerves anymore. And his gut was telling him that no one would walk in. That only Harry would see him. And that Harry needed to see him. So off the invisibility cloak remained.

…

…

…

Something was watching him. Harry could feel the eyes on him. Something loomed over him, and he struggled against his will to open his eyes. The person didn't take their eyes off of him, and after a while, though Harry knew that he wasn't alone, the chills that crawled over his being ceased.

A hand, soft, warm and long-fingered, reached out and gently pushed a lock of hair out of Harry's face. It lingered for a few moments, sending shocks of heat in through his very pores before it swiftly tugged away. Harry inhaled deeply - he could definitely define the scent of man in his room; fresh rain and pine. A soft smile tugged at his lips. So, his unexpected visitor was male; definitely not Alicia! Harry almost sighed in relief.

The presence was most welcome to Harry. He desperately missed his family and friends, and even if his visitor was Voldemort himself, Harry couldn't care less at that very moment. Slowly, he rolled over and cracked one eye open.

The blonde hair of his visitor startled him for a moment, and the person who was hovering over him jumped back and stumbled over his own feet in surprise.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, a brow cocked as he pulled himself into a sitting position and stared scornfully down at a sprawled Draco.

Draco snorted as he stood back up, dusting himself off vigorously as he did so. "No, I'm the bloody tooth fairy," he muttered, inspecting the right leg of his trousers closely.

Harry smirked slightly. "What brings you here?" A quick glance towards the clock on the wall caused Harry's smirk to grow wider. "And after visiting hours, no less! You've got half of the Wizarding world after you, and you're risking your neck to come see me?" Harry's eyes darkened suddenly, and distrust filled his voice. "Why?"

Draco stared haughtily at Harry, a frown marring his forehead and lips.

Harry stared at him expectantly. "Well?"

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Someone's got to check up on you, don't they? You know, the hospital won't even _allow _you visitors, so I don't see any reason why you should be complaining!"

Harry looked down, slightly shamed. "That still doesn't explain why they sent _you_," he snarled, hoping to cover his look of guilt.

Draco's eyes narrowed and he flicked at an invisible bit of lint sticking to his left sleeve distractedly.

Harry sighed. "Fine. I'm doing fine, you can leave now."

Draco shook his head but reached for a familiar-looking cloak at the foot of Harry's bed. "Hey!" Harry cried out after a few moments of silence. "That's my invisibility cloak!"

Draco smirked mysteriously as he flung it over his shoulders, disappearing completely from view. "And this is how I sneak in," he said, his voice filled with humor.

A whoosh of air flew past Harry, the soft fingers once again touching his face before the door opened and shut softly and Draco disappeared not only from view but from the room as well.

…

…

…

_Harry struggled to get away from the meaty fists that bit into his hips as he was thrust violently into. His insides were burning and his eyes were streaming with the pain from the force of it, but still the man wouldn't end his violation of Harry's tender arse. _

_Harry cried out, he screamed profanities and pleaded for mercy, yet the man refused to take notice. _

_When the man finally finished, he left Harry lying on a rough, hard surface vulnerably. Each time it happened, it was rougher, more real, and Harry just couldn't make him stop. Why wouldn't he stop!_

Harry woke that morning sweaty and panting, tears streaming from his eyes. Everything was so clear to him now, but he didn't want to believe that it had actually happened to him. He hadn't been r…r…ra…Harry couldn't even bring himself to think of the word.

He just wanted it to go away. Why did everything have to happen to him? Why not someone else? Harry had had enough of it; even before he was old enough to talk, he had been destined for a fate of abuse and violence, and he just wanted it all to disappear.

Alicia came in that morning, as usual all smiles and big hopes. Harry didn't want to let her down, he really didn't, but he didn't need 'help coping'. He was fully capable of coping himself, thank you very much! So as usual, Harry answered her questions in a monotonous voice, and whenever possible answered in grunts or monosyllabic words.

"Harry, I can't help but think that you don't want my help," Alicia had stated at the end of the session.

Harry stared at her coldly, retreating completely into the hard shell that had built itself over him during his short stay in the hospital. Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "I've told you I don't want your help," he stated coldly. With that, he averted his gaze from her.

Dejectedly, Alicia left the room ten minutes later, though she felt that the entire session had not been a complete waste as Harry probably had hoped it would be.

…

…

…

"I believe he's beginning to remember some things, Headmaster," Alicia stated, her smile wide though it didn't reach her haunted eyes.

Minerva McGonagall nodded approvingly. "That is very good indeed. So he will be ready for the school year?"

Alicia's smile faltered slightly. "I'm not quite sure, Minerva," she said, her brow furrowed in concern. "He's bottling it all up; I can't pull it out of him against his will, he's a legal adult."

Minerva nodded once more. "I see," Alicia flushed slightly under Minerva's gaze. "May I visit him?" Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow at Alicia, who was squirming under her gaze and flushing like a teenager. "Perhaps I can persuade him into confiding in you," she said reassuringly, causing Alicia to flush brighter.

"Sure," Alicia squeaked out, and Minerva smiled slightly. Of course, it would be weird talking to a former professor in such a businesslike manner; the actual Wizarding life was quite different from the life of that at Hogwarts.

…

…

…

The door to Harry's room opened softly, and Harry ignored the intruder. He was busily brooding over a hot cup of tea (he was finally allowed to have real substance now), when a cold hand encircled his shoulder in an iron grip, causing him to jump several inches into the air in alarm before yanking roughly away in reflex.

His head snapped in the direction of the hand, and Harry was shocked to see Molly Weasley smiling down at him. "You go home tomorrow," she said as a greeting.

Harry's face melted into a half-smile. "Why so early?" he asked, noticing the way that Molly kept her touch rationed. Harry scowled to himself as he thought of what Alicia must have told her and everyone else.

"Alicia says that you've been healing up nicely, much faster than she expected for you to. And you've already been promoted to solids!" Molly exclaimed, pointing to a plate of cookies on Harry's bedside table, none of which had been touched.

Harry flushed and looked away, not wanting to admit that he hadn't touched anything closely related to food since his last real meal at Number Twelve.

Molly smiled at him, her eyes gleaming. "We all miss you, Harry," she said, leaning down to hug him softly.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in her scent wistfully, not wanting to let go of her. He could feel himself being isolated once again even as Molly began to pull away from him and walk out of the room with a soft smile and glowing eyes. When she was out of sight, Harry began to sob.


	11. Difficulty

**Chapter Eleven**

**Difficulty**

The burning in Draco's left forearm was almost enough to make him collapse; the pain was so strong. His eyes widened in fright as he stared down at his Dark Mark, darkening with every second, causing his skin to ripple and flex as it literally burned his flesh. Angst-ridden, Draco raced from the safe haven of his room and bumped almost immediately into Severus.

One glance into Severus' eyes told him everything he needed to know, and he hardly had a chance to say a word before Severus cast a quick memory charm and grabbed his wrist, effectively apperating them both to whence they were summoned.

…

…

…

Harry tossed in his sleep, a face flashing before him. This nightmare was different from all the other ones; the man was not there. Harry refused to allow himself to think about who the man who so brutally took him had been, though on a subconscious level, he knew quite well.

This time, the man was blonde, and rather thin. He seemed frightened, though Harry could not quite figure out why. A tall man wearing long, tattered black robes walked into a dark, dank room lit by a single, melted down candle, followed by the blonde man and a greasy-haired, hook-nosed man. A heavy door clanged shut behind them, and the tall man - Harry hadn't seen his face yet - turned swiftly around. His voice, though high pitched, was booming.

"For quite some time, the protection charms placed over the Muggle relatives of Harry Potter have been disintegrated," he began. "We have allowed the muggles to adjust comfortably, and now they are expecting nothing. Tonight is when we attack. Have no mercy,"

The tall man began to pace, and the blonde man gulped, his limbs visually quaking in fear.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?" the tall man asked, his voice a menacing hiss.

The blond man gulped once more. "N-no, my Lord," he bowed his head in respect.

"One would think, Draco, that you would be eager to kill them," the tall man hissed out, his voice holding a chuckle in it. "Are you afraid?"

The blonde inhaled deeply. "I've never killed someone before, my Lord," he stated, averting his eyes.

Harry could hear the smile in the voice of the tall man, and he knew that the smile was less than pleasing to the eye. "I see," he chuckled. "There's a first time for everything,"

Draco nodded once more, nervously. "Yes, my Lord,"

…

Harry woke with a start. The Dursleys were to be killed…and he felt oddly detached. He knew that he should feel something; fear, remorse, glee; but he didn't. He should probably call a Mediwitch, or tell someone about his dream, but he found that he really didn't care one way or the other if the Dursleys died; they deserved it, after all.

But Dudley didn't. Dudley had changed. He had been a ruthless boy as a youngster, but he had taken care of Harry when Harry had needed it the most…he had changed.

Harry's pulse gained speed as he sat up swiftly, almost becoming sick from the force of it. He grappled for his wand on the bedside table, nearly knocking it to the ground. With a swift flick of his wrist, a Mediwitch came bustling in to the room, her cheeks flushed.

"What's the matter, dear?" the plump woman asked, clutching her bosom as she gasped for breath.

"I need to see…uh…I need to see…Mrs. Weasley, right away!"

The Mediwitch smiled softly. "Can't wait to get home, I see," she stated, plopping herself into the bedside chair. "You'll be there in a few hours, my boy. No need to cause panic!"

"No, you don't understand!" Harry cried, swinging his legs over the side of the bed in an attempt to get up. "I had a dream," he began, gingerly standing up.

"A dream?" the Mediwitch interrupted, cocking an eyebrow. "Is that all? A nightmare?"

"No!" Harry shouted. "Listen to me!" The Mediwitch looked shocked, but she snapped her mouth shut. Harry continued. "In my dream…muggles are going to be killed! You don't understand! Voldemort, he's going to kill my family!"

The Mediwitch narrowed her eyes. "Your family? Harry, dear, your family would be better off dead, if you don't mind me saying."

Harry sighed in exasperation. "You don't _understand_!"

"Honey," the Mediwitch tried to soothe. "How do you even know that your dream will come true? Surely it was just that; a dream."

Harry slapped his forehead in exasperation. "Look, lady, I've had a past with these types of things, okay? I know from experience, in case you hadn't read in the _Daily Prophet_, and I'm really not in the mood to play games with you tonight, okay?"

The Mediwitch's eyes widened for a moment and she raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I'll trust you this once, but truthfully this goes against regulation, so we'll have to keep this between ourselves, alright?"

At Harry's nod, the Mediwitch bustled out of the room, only to reappear seconds later with her wand in hand. "Now, you just lie back on the bed, that's it. I'll take care of everything, okay?"

Harry eyed her warily. "You're not going to help me, are you?" he asked with despair growing deeper in his sinking stomach.

"Of course I am, sweetie. Now, just get back into bed, I'll summon Molly in moments. That's a dear."

Harry eyed her for a few moments, as his stomach seemed to flop the whole way down to his feet. Then he decided that he had nothing to lose and nothing to gain, so he did as he was told. He would have done it grudgingly if he were in a different situation, if the things in his past hadn't happened…but Harry no longer had any hope. He was his only reliance, and he could trust no one. So why not just follow orders?

Harry's heart screamed at him to do something, to lunge out the door and race down the hall to the flooing station, but he knew that he could never get away.

The Mediwitch smiled warmly at him. "That's a boy," she said in a soft, soothing manner as she stepped towards his bed. She drew up the covers and patted his head softly before poking her own out the door and looking up and down the long corridor. Nodding her head in approval, she stepped back into the room and smiled mischievously at Harry, as though they shared a secret that no one else knew about, and quickly raised her wand into the air.

Green sparks shot out the end of it and flew out the window that adorned the wall of Harry's room. She nodded in approval as the sparks came back seconds later, similar to a boomerang, and shot Harry one more smile.

Harry stared at her all the while curiously. "That means that she'll be here in a few seconds. We disabled the ability to apperate after that little incident with the attempted break-ins at Gringotts. Of course, we have no reason to believe that the Death Eaters will try to break into here - heavens, why would they want to? - But one can never be too careful. Ah, that would be Molly right now."

She threw open the window quickly and stepped aside to allow Molly to jump from a hovering broom and land gently into the room. Immediately Molly rushed over to Harry's bed, engulfing him in her warm arms tightly.

"What's the problem, Harry? What's happened?" she refused to let go of her smothering grasp on Harry as she turned to the Mediwitch with a flustered face. "Thank you so much for calling me, Angela."

The Mediwitch called Angela nodded swiftly and with a soft smile, she winked at Harry and left the room.

Molly pulled away from Harry, though she still loomed over him. She patted his cheeks softly and felt his forehead, then sighed to herself and nodded before stepping away a fraction of an inch. "What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry swallowed thickly. "Voldemort called on Draco and Snape," he began, and Molly nodded knowingly. "He, uh…he's asked them to kill my family." Harry looked away for a moment before looking out the corner of his eye.

Molly stood there, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "Harry, that's horrible," she murmured after a few second's hesitation. She sat gingerly on the edge of his bed and patted his knee gently.

Harry cleared his throat. "They're…they're supposed to be doing it…n-now," he said. He looked away once more as Molly wrapped her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry, Harry." she said soothingly as she rubbed her arms up and down his back.

"Are…aren't you going to do something to try to stop him?"

Molly looked at Harry, her eyes filled with sorrow. "I'm afraid I can't, dear. And surely, Voldemort won't be there; if he's sent Draco and Severus to do the job, surely they're going to find some way to pretend that they've done it. You've just got to trust them, honey," Molly said, though her eyes betrayed her words; Draco and Severus were going to kill Harry's only surviving family, and there was nothing that he could do to stop them while he was in the hospital.

Harry breathed in through his mouth and out through his nose deeply, trying to go to a place where everything was happy, and that was how he fell asleep once again, Molly encircling him in her warm embrace as he drifted off.

…

…

…

Harry woke to the sound of murmurs. "You're not supposed to be here, Molly. Visiting hours don't begin for another hour, and Mr. Potter here doesn't go home for another four." The voice was stressed and agitated.

"You think I don't know that?" Molly's voice retaliated. "He summoned me; I had no choice but to respond!"

"He still has to have his counseling session for the day, if you don't mind! You must leave at once!"

"I'll wait outside if I must, but I'm not leaving,"

The first voice sighed in exasperation. "Very well, but you cannot stay in this room. I have some very touchy subjects to touch upon today before he leaves."

"Oh, you can't do that to him, not now!" Harry could hear something clatter to the ground and he cracked his eye open a bit to see that it was the chair that Molly had been sitting on moments before. Molly was now standing nose to nose with Alicia, daring her to say otherwise.

"You're not his legal guardian, Molly," Alicia said with a superior raise of her brow.

Molly's lips pursed and she glowered at Alicia, but backed down. "I'll be waiting out in the corridor. If he should need me-"

"He won't be needing you." The door shut firmly behind Molly and Alicia sighed in relief. "Harry, wake up," she said in a singsong voice.

Harry ignored her. "Up, Harry! You're going home today! I've got some questions to ask you first, but afterwards you're free to go!"

Harry rolled over so that his back was to her, and lifted the covers up over his head with a groan, wishing it all away. His bones ached and his eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Harry?"

Seconds later the covers were yanked from his grasp.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but this is the way it's got to be. Obviously, you won't be seeing me after you're released - ah, ah, ah, don't you pull that on me, mister, I know you're awake. - so I have some questions for you now that must be answered before you can leave."

Harry sighed in submission and rolled back over to face Alicia and his fate.

"Your relatives were…killed last night, Harry," Alicia said calmly. "One of them has disappeared."

Harry's voice cracked when he finally spoke. "Which one?"

Alicia stared at him solemnly. "Dudley,"

Harry's breath hitched on a rise of hope that he couldn't stop from emerging in his throat. "Do they…do they think he's alive?"

Alicia pursed her lips together and nodded. "It's very likely that he is. But, Harry, please, don't get your hopes up."

Harry glowered at Alicia but nodded.

"Now, Harry, I know that this is a touchy subject, but I must know everything that went on this summer. Is that okay?"

Harry refused to answer.

"Harry, I don't want to resort to forcing you to take Veritaserum, but if I must, I will."

Harry's eyes hardened as he glared at her.

"Harry, please."

"You're a counselor," Harry stated, his eyes cold as ice and voice quavering. "You're supposed to help me, not threaten me."

"Harry, I'm trying to help you, but I really can't if you won't cooperate."

"Maybe I don't want your help," Harry said, his eyes glistening with malice as he withdrew.

"Harry, I-"

"Do you know the damage it could cause me if I were to relive everything that's happened to me over the summer?" Harry asked, his lip curling up in a sneer.

"Harry, I understand that-"

"Don't," Harry shouted at her, jumping to a standing defensive position, clenching his fists at his side and grinding his teeth. "Don't tell me you understand, because you don't!"

"I'd like to understand," Alicia said, her face falling as she slumped defeatedly into the chair that Mrs. Weasley had previously been seated. "Harry, will you please help me to understand?" When she met Harry's gaze, her eyes were filled with despair. She was giving up on trying to help him.

Harry had no mercy. "Would you really? You would like to understand what it's like to be torn apart from the inside out for no reason? You want to know what it was like to have my head bashed into the headboard?" Harry pointed at another scar on his forehead, directly above his lightening bolt scar and spanning across his entire forehead.

"Harry-"

"No," Harry cut Alicia off. "He raped me, okay? Should I be upset because he's finally dead? He's been waiting for the same thing of me since I was first brought to his house."

Alicia closed her eyes and when she opened them, they were swimming with tears. "Harry, I do understand," she said, though she didn't go into details. "I understand more than you know, okay? I just want to help you heal."

A tear slid down Harry's face and he glared angrily at Alicia. "I don't want to heal! I'm healing just fine! I.DON'T.NEED.YOUR.HELP!" He punctuated each word angrily and stepping toward her.

Just then, the door flew open and the room was flooded with people crowding around Harry, chattering excitedly. Harry looked up to see Alicia smiling at him grimly before she slipped from the room to allow Harry's friends to engulf him in hugs and bubbling chatter.


	12. Suicide Attempt and Suspicions

**A/N: **I'm SOOOO sorry it's taken so long to update. I was going to upload this earlier, but my computer decided to get a virus, and I've had to have it fixed, which is part of the reason for the delay. I hope to make up for this with a slightly longer chapter than usual. Forgive me? (puppy dog eyes) Review!

**Chapter Twelve**

**Suicide Attempt and Suspicions**

Harry sighed. He hated the sympathetic glances he kept getting from all around the table. He was trying his best to ignore them, but it was becoming more and more difficult, considering the fact that even Snape was giving him looks, and it was extremely unnerving. 'I swear,' he thought to himself. 'If I get one more look…'

He didn't even have time to finish his thought; Draco shot him a sympathetic look out the corner of his eyes and Harry hissed and rose quickly to his feet. "Look," he addressed everyone seated at the table. "I'm not some broken little boy. Stop looking at me like that! I'm not going to break! I'm not going to fall apart, okay?"

Everyone looked taken-aback. "Harry," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, but Harry held up his hand to stop her.

"No," he interrupted. "I'm still the same Harry, okay? Just, please…I-"

"Alicia said that you need time to heal!" Hermione pointed out.

Harry raked his fingers through his hair. They got stuck in the knots and he groaned and winced as he yanked them roughly out. "Look, Alicia knows nothing, okay? I don't want to be treated like a fragile…fragile…_girl_!"

With that, Harry stomped off to his room, muttering under his breath. "I've healed. I don't need to heal. I _have _healed…" the entire way.

Draco shot Hermione a half-smile. "He's right, you know. He's not a girl."

Hermione shot Draco a cross glare. "I know that, Draco," she mumbled. "But he's been raped, for Merlin's sake!"

Draco closed his eyes and shook his head. "Yes," he agreed. "But he's still Harry."

Hermione looked at the doorway where Harry had disappeared, along with everyone else at the table. "Perhaps," she said after a moment's silence.

…

…

…

Alicia paced back and forth in front of the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, hands buried deep in her pockets, wondering what she would say to Harry. She was there for their weekly meeting, although Harry had protested against it. Unfortunately for him, she was part of the Order, and he had grudgingly agreed. Of course it only served to anger him more that Alicia and Mrs. Weasley had made nice during his short stay at the hospital. In a way, their relationship was similar to that between himself and Malfoy. They didn't quite like each other, but if they had to be in each other's presence, they would deal with it.

Mrs. Weasley opened the door, amidst a loud screaming sound. Her smile was bitter and slightly forced as she allowed Alicia into the ragged home. She had dark rings under her eyes and her hair was all over the place. There was no smell of cooking food wafting from the kitchen, and there was no warmth permitting from anywhere near Molly.

It took Alicia a while to realize that the screaming was not coming from the bewildered-looking portrait of Mrs. Black, who seemed rather reserved and quiet, albeit a bit suspicious. She continually disappeared and came back looking disgruntled and, though she tried to hide it, worried.

"Is…is that Harry?" Alicia asked after a moment's hesitation. At Molly's terse nod, Alicia's eyes widened. "What is he doing up there?"

Molly shook her head. "No one knows," she answered truthfully. "He's locked himself in the bathroom, hasn't been out since he came home two days ago. The screaming started last night. It hasn't ended, not once. Alicia, I'm afraid I'm on the end of my tether. I want to help him, I really do, but he just seems to withdraw." Molly's eyes filled with glistening tears, and Alicia rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"I'll do what I can, Molly," Alicia said comfortingly. Molly nodded and after another moment's hesitation, she led Alicia up the stairs.

When they got there, Draco was already leaning against the bathroom door, eyes drooping shut slightly, mumbling incoherent words. "Draco, you can leave now," Molly stated, startling Draco out of his half-slumber. Draco climbed heavily to his feet, murmuring obscenities about Harry the entire way to his bed.

The screaming was cut short and they could hear gasping in the silence, which was rather unnerving. Alicia nodded shortly to Molly, and Molly left Alicia alone with Harry. After Molly had retreated, Alicia knocked hesitantly on the door. There was no response.

"Harry?" Alicia asked, drawing her wand and casting a soft unlocking charm. The door swung open and Alicia was greeted with a most unnerving sight. Harry Potter, lying in the bathtub, bloody. The room stank of sick, and there was blood everywhere, running down the walls and pooled in small puddles mixed with water on the floor near the tub. Harry's eyes were bloodshot, his hands clenching and unclenching sporadically as blood flowed freely from his wrists. One hand was clapped over his scar, and his entire forehead was bloodied. "Harry!" Alicia gasped out. Harry looked at her as though seeing her for the first time.

His voice was hoarse when he greeted her, the three most chilling words she had heard for a long time. "I hate you," it was merely a whisper, but Alicia caught it. With that, Harry's eyes slid closed. The house was blessedly silent for all of two seconds before Alicia ran from the room and began screaming orders at anyone she stumbled upon; including a most annoyed Draco Malfoy, who was forced to yank himself up from his bed.

…

…

…

Hours later, Harry Potter was arranged in his bedroom, bound to his bed as healing charms were applied to him. For the hundredth time, Harry tried to explain himself. "I was not trying to commit suicide," he said, his throat sore and his voice still hoarse.

"Harry, if that's not what you were doing, then what was it?"

"Voldemort," Harry whispered harshly. "He tried…he tried to contact me. It was…just too much for me, you know?" Harry's smirk was bitter when he met Alicia's glance. "I was not trying to commit suicide," he assured her. "He was controlling me. I think I was under some type of '_Imperius_' or something."

Alicia shook her head disbelievingly, but remained silent. "Harry," she said after a bit of awkward silence. She stopped casting healing charms, and Harry let out a sigh of relief. "I know you think I don't know anything about what you've suffered, but I have something to tell you."

Harry looked at Alicia, as though he couldn't care less of what she had to say. But, of course since he was bound to his bed and couldn't see sleeping anywhere in his near future, he listened nonetheless.

"The only reason I was assigned to your case, Harry," Alicia began. "Was because I was raped myself." Harry opened his mouth to comment, but Alicia cut him off. "No, don't interrupt. I know you think I'm only saying this, but to tell you the truth, it was hard for me to admit it, too. My father did it. Or, rather, my stepfather, but I thought of him as family.

"My mother - muggle, of course - had re-married when I was two, and I always thought of him as my father. When I got my Hogwarts acceptance letter, he was pleased. Excited. He couldn't believe that he had a magical being in his household. No, I was not a mud blood," Alicia said at Harry's disbelieving glare. "My father had been a wizard, though he hadn't told my mother before he left her.

"And when I came home after my first year at Hogwarts, things had changed drastically. My stepfather was petrified of me, but I guess that he believed that I could somehow give him the power that he so yearned for. He…he took my virginity that night. And he continued doing it until I was seventeen and old enough to get away. It took me years of therapy to admit that it wasn't my fault."

Harry shot a glare at her, not believing what she told him. "Harry, I'm not lying. I'm sorry I can't put everything as artistically as I'm sure you would like for me to, but this really did happen to me. It's still hard to talk about it sometimes.

"The officials at the ministry believed that since I had had some previous experience with something like this, I could help you out. But to tell you the truth, you're only my second patient. I just recently got my therapists' degree, and, Harry, to tell you the truth, I don't know how to help you.

"I really want to, I truthfully do, but Harry, I need your help. Harry, will you please tell me what really happened?"

Harry stared at Alicia for a few moments more before he nodded slowly.

Alicia smiled softly. "Start at the beginning, when you came home."

…

…

…

_As soon as Harry had walked through the door, he could feel the tension in the air. Everyone stared at him, and they seemed so apologetic, so sympathetic. Harry couldn't stand it. Finally, he had exploded at dinner, and rushed out of the room before anyone could try to make him see the reasoning behind their actions. _

_He knew that he was acting differently, although he had tried to tell them that he was still the same Harry. Of course, things had changed drastically from the time he had been sent home, but Harry still yearned to be treated the same way he had been treated when he had left school. He had said that he wasn't going to go back to school, but that had changed when Dumbledore had contacted him. Now he looked forward to going back. He wanted so desperately to go back to some semblance of normalcy. But things would never be the same. _

_He hadn't immediately gone to the bathroom. He had gone to his bedroom to sulk for a few hours, but after no one came up to comfort him, he ran to the bathroom and forced himself to be sick. His stomach had roiled uncomfortably, and he could feel the acid as it continued to force itself up his throat. _

_When he could no longer be sick, he had collapsed against the wall and fallen asleep, the sickness still tainting his mouth and throat with its taste. He had eventually fallen asleep, regretting everything that had happened. _

_He had woken up early that morning to the burning pulsation of his forehead. More particularly, his scar. He had lifted his hand up to it, to find that it was pulsing with blood. His touch set off something within him, pain sparking from the very center of his brain to the ends of his fingers and toes, throughout his whole body. He didn't even notice the screams that were coming from his own mouth. _

_Voldemort's voice had taken over then, convincing him that everything was his fault, and how much easier it would be to just kill himself. _

"_Poor little Potter, all growed up now," he had commented. Harry could hear the smirk behind his voice, could nearly see the crooked teeth, the rotted away nose, the ghostly pale skin. "Does poor little Potter not know what to do? Poor, poor little Potter._

"_You do know that this is all your fault, don't you? You could have joined me, you could have stayed far away from those dastardly muggles. But no, poor little Potter always has to be a hero. Poor, poor little Potter." A hiss found its way into Voldemort's voice, and Harry could nearly hear the transition from English to Parseltongue. _

"_Is it too overwhelming, whelp? Of course it would be. But you've seen death before, haven't you, Potter? The death of your poor family shouldn't be that much of a shock. All of the rest of your family has died. It was only a matter of time before they all did. And soon you'll join them. Does that make you happy?"_

_At that, Harry let out a sob that could not be withheld. "Aw," Voldemort tisked, going back to English. For some reason, the English didn't seem nearly as threatening as Parseltongue. "Poor Potter. I would have thought that out of everyone, you'd be the happiest. Perhaps you'd like to join them sooner? In that case, you don't even have to wait for me to kill you. All you've got to do is…"_

_Harry couldn't stop screaming. The screams drowned out everything; Voldemort's voice, the sound of running water, even the sound of the screams themselves, until Harry was lost in white noise, unable to find himself through the haze. _

_Eventually, Harry gave up. He couldn't remember anything after that, just the immense pain and the tearing of skin that brought on a semblance of a little bit of relief. _

…

…

…

Harry's eyes were clouded when he came out of the memory. When he met Alicia's eyes, her own were glistening, and Harry sighed. "I wasn't trying to commit suicide," he tried once more. "Well, at least not purposely,"

"I know, Harry," Alicia said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I've…I've got to go talk to Mrs. Weasley and everyone else. You'll be okay, won't you?"

Harry's eyes shot open wide, showing his vulnerability. "No!" he exclaimed, struggling against his invisible restraints. "Please, you can't leave me alone! What if Voldemort comes back?"

Alicia watched Harry sadly, then nodded. "I'll leave Draco with you," she said after a while.

Harry, though not looking happy with Alicia's choice, looked at least a little bit relieved.

Alicia pulled the door open and Draco fell to the floor, a shocked look on his face. He stood up quickly, dusting himself off and looking guilty. "I wasn't trying to listen, I swear!" he cried out. Alicia smirked at him knowingly but nodded and left the room. As soon as she was gone, Draco scrambled into the room quickly, shut the door, and took over Ron's un-occupied bed.

"So, Potter," Draco drawled after a while. Harry kept his gaze averted, but Draco didn't seem to notice. "Um, what…what happened in there?"

Harry took a deep breath and shook his head. Draco cocked his head to the side and looked at Harry curiously. After a long bout of awkward silence, Draco sighed. "So, uh…those wounds have healed up nicely."

Harry hissed and stiffened his spine, his eyes glazing over coldly. Okay, apparently that wasn't the correct thing to say. Draco furrowed his brow, trying to think of something else to say to break the uncomfortable silence with. After a while, he sighed and gave up. They remained in eerie silence for the remainder of their time together.

…

…

…

"Alicia, you've got to tell us what's happened. What was wrong with him?" Hermione ambushed Alicia as soon as she entered the living room. Even Mrs. Black was there, having taken over a portrait of a rather disgruntled looking fat woman in a tight white dress that showed off her large bust. The woman 'harrumphed', flipping her midnight colored hair over her shoulder haughtily, and joined a thin, frail, old looking man in the portrait next door to her own.

Alicia sighed. "He's tried to convince me that he hadn't tried to commit suicide," there was a collective gasp throughout the room, even from Mrs. Black, who had been rather taken with the boy ever since he had arrived earlier that summer. She had known that he had been trying to hide something, and had vowed to find out what it was. Of course, back then she had had different motives, but slowly she was coming around to the Order's ideas and plans. Poor, poor Harry!

Alicia shot everyone a sharp glance, and they quieted down. "However, I have reason to believe that he's made it up. We must keep a constant watch on him for at least another month."

"Will he be able to go back to school this year?" Hermione cut in quickly, her eyes shining with worry.

Alicia looked thoughtful for a few moments, then shook her head. "I see no reason why he shouldn't. You would all just have to keep an eye on him there. And I don't think you will have a problem with that, will you?"

Ron slung an arm over Hermione's shoulders and Ginny followed suit, all shaking their heads in unison. Neville stood silently by his grandmother, mulling it over. A sharp prod to his side quickly made his mind up for him. "No, ma'am," Neville cried out quickly, shaking his head as though it were about to fall straight off of his neck and dodging another well-aimed prod to his side for the slight crack in his voice. "No problem!"

"I cannot assure you that Harry won't attempt to take his life again. In some cases, we've just got to believe him when he says that he isn't trying to. But I want you all to be prepared for it. I want you to stop him if he attempts it again, and I want you to comfort him. Don't treat him any differently than what you would if he were visiting after a long summer holiday.

"The circumstances he has faced, alone, would be very hard on anyone. The events of the past six years are just now catching up with him as well. This will be a very hard time, not only for him, but for everyone associated with him, as well. I just ask that you support him. Do not criticize him, or scold him. He says that he isn't fragile, and I'm sure that he thinks he can do this alone, but I assure you that he cannot. I would like for you all to remember that almost twenty percent of all suicide attempts are, eventually, successful. Given, that is after multiple tries, but one can never be too certain.

"If he asks to be left alone, it would be wise to do as he wishes. But, have him leave his wand in view of everyone, and have someone near the room that he is in at all times. Remove the locks of any possible rooms he may wish to be in. Like I've said, he will need to be under constant surveillance. But he should not feel like he is being watched. He needs to trust you. He needs someone to lean on, someone he can trust. I trust that you will all be willing to be there for him when he needs you?"

Everyone in the room nodded, and Alicia continued, though this time she was addressing the portraits. "You, Mrs. Black, need to watch him the most. It is easier for portraits to watch people, because they are thought to be less susceptible. That goes for all of you, as well," Alicia turned around the room, looking at each portrait in turn.

"You all need to watch him closely, and give both Molly and myself full reports daily of his whereabouts, who was watching him, and what occurred in the time remaining. I would like for you, Sir Bartholomew, to take the first shift of watching Harry. Please depart from us now."

A man in a suit of armor, nearest the door, saluted Alicia, and quickly departed from his portrait. Alicia nodded grimly, her lips pursed, as she was bombarded with even more questions.

…

…

…

"Sir Bartholomew, reporting for duty, sirs!" The normally empty picture above Harry's bed was quickly filled with a red-headed, middle-aged looking man. He was short, with a curly goatee. His armor clanked and clicked loudly, and Harry stared at him peculiarly.

"Um…are you sure you've got the right room?" Harry asked hoarsely after a while. Draco stared at the proceedings curiously.

Sir Bartholomew cocked his head and eyed Harry. "You are Sir Potter," he stated after a moment.

Harry blinked. "Yes," he said, his eyes clouded and confused.

"Then yes," Sir Bartholomew said, righting himself and leaning his sword against the frame of the otherwise empty painting. "I am in the correct place."

Sir Bartholomew made himself comfortable in the corner of the blank painting, and Harry watched him curiously.

"You…you're sure?" he asked suspiciously after a little bit longer.

"Yes, noble Sir Potter," Sir Bartholomew stated, saluting Harry swiftly. Harry blinked.

"Um, okay," Harry said, brows furrowed. "If you insist."

He turned to Draco and gave him a weird look. Draco smirked but shrugged. "Don't ask me," he said. "I've been here the whole time. I've no clue what's going on."

Draco's assurances did nothing to comfort Harry, and he stayed on his guard stiffly, refusing to get comfortable in Malfoy's presence.

…

…

…

Two days later, Hermione was lounging in Harry's room on the freshly vacated bed that Ron no longer slept in. Ron had opted to sleep in Ginny and Hermione's shared room as everyone circulated with having a chance of watching over Harry. Although Harry was slightly suspicious about what was going on, he was glad that his bonds had been taken away, so he really didn't care that something fishy was going on.

Hermione was flipping comfortably through pages of her newly acquired book for the fresh year at Hogwarts that Arthur had gotten for her just the day before. Harry had also been supplied school supplies, but Harry had to wonder how Arthur had managed to get Harry entirely new supplies without being able to get a hold of Harry's money, but he had other things to worry about, so the suspicions were quickly pushed to the far corner of his mind.

It was also quite suspicious that the empty portrait above Harry's bed was now nearly constantly home to someone or another. Mrs. Black even seemed to visit him quite often. It made Harry wonder even more.

His friends often kept him occupied, and it was quite odd in the change of the way they were treating him. Just days before, they had been treating him like fragile glass, but now…now it was as though nothing had happened to him at all. Harry spent most of his time pondering over what Alicia had said to everyone to cause this change in their attitude.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, turning the page of one of his own new books.

"Hmm?" Hermione continued reading, as though Harry hadn't said anything at all.

"The other day," Harry stopped momentarily. That caught Hermione's attention. Perhaps he was about to reveal to her exactly what had happened to him! Hermione jumped at the chance excitedly.

"Yes?" she asked, her attention completely diverted from her book now.

"Um," Harry was reluctant to ask Hermione what he so desperately wanted to know, but taking a deep breath, he went for the plunge. "What exactly did Alicia tell you about what happened?"

Hermione's eyes lit up as though something new was occurring to her, and she smiled warmly at Harry. "She was quite vague, actually. She just said that we should treat you like normal, mostly."

Harry's brow furrowed and he sighed. Of course Alicia would tell them something like that. No wonder why everyone's attitude had changed so much.

"Hey, Harry, don't look so sad," Hermione soothed, tossing an arm over his shoulder as she plopped down beside him. Harry jerked away quickly, eyes wide and chest heaving.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "What's wrong?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

Harry inhaled deeply and gulped, shaking his head and saying nothing.

Hermione sighed and pulled away. She really needed to study up a bit over some things. "Harry, I'm sorry. I've got to go, but Ginny and Ron wanted to come see you. Would you mind if I…" she trailed off and motioned questioningly towards the door. Harry pursed his lips but shook his head, and Hermione smiled warmly at him before bounding out of the room.

Ginny and Ron slinked into the room, Ron carrying a chess board and Ginny carrying a red leather-bound book. Ginny grinned widely at Harry and tossed herself onto the empty bed, cracking open the book and burying her face in it immediately. Ron slunk over to Harry like a kicked dog with his tail between his legs, offering the chess board almost nervously. For some reason, he reminded Harry of Neville.

"Wanna…play?" Ron asked, and Harry hated the way he sounded nervous and apologetic.

Out of mostly pity, Harry half-heartedly agreed.

…

…

…

After Ron had won three games, he had become rather full of himself. He didn't get quite so in-your-face as he had prior to…this summer, but he was quite gleeful. He even upped the stakes for the fourth game.

"Okay, Harry, this is what we're gonna do," he had said after one of his pawns rammed bodily into one of Harry's castles. "If I win, you have to come out of the room for at least two hours," at Harry's look of spite, he grinned widely. "And you have to spend the night with Malfoy." Harry cringed and crinkled up his nose in disgust.

"And if I win?"

Ron pondered on it for a minute. "I have to streak around the house twice?"

Harry pulled a disgusted face, and Ron grinned sheepishly, his cheeks flushing brightly. Harry shook his head disgustedly, then decided. "How about _you _spend the night with Malfoy?" he challenged.

"Me?" Ron squeaked, ears turning bright red.

Harry smirked. "Fair's fair,"

Ron sighed resignedly, but nodded.

…

…

…

Two hours later, Harry and Ron were engaged in one of the most competitive games they had ever played against each other.

Harry cried out triumphantly as one of his knights slammed a sword violently into Ron's queen. Harry wasn't the only one. Behind him, perched atop a stool that had been materialized out of nowhere, Sir Bartholomew also cried out with joy. Both Harry and Ron looked questioningly at him, but he could not withhold his laugh of glee as one of Ron's own knights impaled the very knight that had just taken his queen with its sword.

Finally, the game was down to a few players. Ron quickly finished off Harry's own players, and grinned wickedly as he put Harry's king in checkmate with his bishop.

Behind her book, Ginny grinned triumphantly as well. But it seemed that overall, Sir Bartholomew was the one who grinned the widest.

Harry groaned in horror, not looking forward to the night that was sure to be the longest of his life.

All thoughts of fishy suspicions were pushed from his mind as Ron and Ginny bodily forced him out the door and down the stairs to the family room.


	13. The Beginning of Problem Number One

**A/N: **Sorry I haven't updated. I've been really bad at that lately, haven't I? Well, my Twenty-second birthday was on May Seventeenth, and I guess part of the reason I haven't been updating is because I've celebrated all week long with the obligatory party, lol.

I've also been a bit caught up in some school troubles. There are only three days left until the last day of school, and it's getting down to the nitty-gritty, here. There have been a lot of finals, which should be done and over with soon, and this chapter and a few others afterwards may be a bit belated. Sorry 'bout that, guys!

When school gets out for the summer, posts should be flying out like hotcakes. I'd love to finish this before summer's over and get on to KTB and FAAR's sequel (which is coming along nicely, but will be a bit delayed, I'm sorry to say). Maybe we'll have those done with by August, too. One can only hope! (wistful sigh)

**A/N2: **This chapter is where the bulimia starts (Problem Number One, of course). I will mark the beginning and the end if you do not wish to read it, but there will be a lot of mention about it from here on out, so I've decided to give you ample warning.

I've been getting a lot of reviews asking if this is really a Harry/Draco fic, and I must assure you that yes, it is. It will just be a long time in coming, that's all. The cutting (Problem Number Two) should begin soon, as well, and I will warn you about it beforehand in case you don't want to read it.

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Beginning of Problem Number One**

**(Please read A/Ns. Thank you!)**

Harry nervously scrunched the quilt of his bed with his fingers. Draco was to spend the night in his room tonight, something that he hadn't done yet, although Ron, Hermione and Ginny had alternately spent the night in Harry's room. He wasn't quite sure what to expect with Draco. As a matter of fact, Harry wasn't quite sure about anything to do with Draco. Draco was a mystery to him.

Draco had changed drastically since school the year before. Harry wondered if -- he was bodily jerked from his musings as Draco stomped into the room haughtily, carrying a pillow and looking elegant in silky, shimmering green pajamas. His eyes were stormy as he slammed his pillow onto the bed adjacent to Harry's and shoved the pillow that was already housed there to the floor with an angry huff. Harry watched the proceedings curiously.

"Stupid….Weasley!" There were some words in between, but it seemed as though Draco was talking to himself and Harry couldn't hear them.

"What was that?"

Draco shot Harry a death glare and slammed his fist into his own pillow, fluffing it violently. "Nothing," he muttered, his eyes on fire.

Harry's brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

Draco blew air out of his nose angrily and threw his pillow onto the bed. Huffily, he slumped onto the bed and sighed. "Nothing," he ground out, once again picking up the pillow and fluffing it, dangerously close to making the soft downy feathers come out of the seams.

"What do you mean nothing? You look murderous. Something must have happened."

"It was just something Weasley said, don't worry about it."

Harry stared quizzically at Draco but nodded. "Okay," he agreed, picking up his own pillow and fluffing it, mostly just to keep his hands occupied and hoping that he didn't look nearly as nervous as he felt.

Draco slammed his fist one last time into his pillow, leaving a large hand-shaped indent in the middle. He pulled the sheets back and swung his legs into his bed, yanking the sheets up to his chin. With that, Draco shot Harry a strained smile, then muttered a soft spell and with a flick of his wand, the lights went out. The room was quickly flooded with moonlight, illuminating Harry in an eerie glow. Harry's green eyes looked nearly like acid as they shone questioningly at Draco.

A chill chased its way down Draco's spine and he shuddered unwillingly, but quickly pushed it away. Harry's eyes continued to glow, reminding Draco of a certain death spell that he didn't wish to remember.

With a sigh, Draco rolled onto his side, facing Harry and ground out between grit teeth, "What?"

Harry's glowing eyes blinked and his brow furrowed, but he didn't answer.

"What?" Draco persisted.

Harry sighed. "It's nothing," he murmured. Turning, he lay down with his head on his pillow and yanked the sheets up over his head.

…

…

…

_Long fingers steepled together to touch thin, dry lips. The lips cracked into a most devilish smile as an orb of light showed a picture of a sleeping dark haired boy. He looked so innocent. Voldemort knew better. This boy's innocence had been ripped away even as a child when he had been forced to live with relatives whom hated him. He no longer was as pure as the whole of the Wizarding community wished to believe, and with that simple fact, Voldemort was going to tear away any hope that the Wizarding world would be saved. _

_How could such a broken boy save anyone, when he couldn't even save himself anymore? Voldemort began to chuckle maliciously, parting his hands and holding them close to the small ball. _

_Magic flew from his fingertips, causing the small orb to turn quickly, blurring the picture of the boy within. And the boy began to dream… _

…

…

…

Draco stared at the ceiling the next morning, twisting the grainy sheets between his fingers. He was awake but too tired to get up, and he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. The night hadn't been as eventful as he had expected for it to be, but it was probably his fault, because he hadn't initiated any type of conversation.

The snoring on his side diminished slowly, but Harry didn't awaken. Instead, he tossed to his side with a loud snort and a harsh mumble of something that Draco couldn't hear, nor could understand.

Draco sighed and turned over. The dreary image outside of the window was not making his mood any better, and the sheets scratched along his skin nerve-wrenchingly. Part of him wanted Harry to wake up, but the other part of him knew that it would be an awkward affair when he did.

With an angry sigh, Draco kicked the sheets away and sat up on his bed. Silently, he looked at the hovering clock, which made it blaringly obvious that it was only a quarter 'till seven in the morning. Draco closed his eyes tiredly, and rubbed his throbbing forehead, feeling much older than his seventeen years at that point.

Harry once more snorted and kicked at something invisible at the foot of his bed, before rolling over, so close to the edge of his bed that he early fell out. Draco smiled indulgently with half-hidden tenderness, then lay back down to glare out the window until Harry woke up.

The sound of someone shuffling about in the picture adjacent to his bed forced Draco out of his musings, and he looked over just in time to see a very tired looking Mrs. Black trying to sneak her way out of the portrait.

Draco stopped her with a nearly silent growl, and Mrs. Black looked sheepishly at him, her cheeks turning a slight red and her silvery black hair falling out of its bun. She looked tired, with barely visible lines marring her face, and light purple underlining her eyes.

With a sigh, Draco nodded at her. "What are _you _looking at?"

Mrs. Black smiled at him wanly and scurried out of the portrait.

…

…

…

Harry woke later that day, none too happy about the arrangements that he had all but forgotten about during the night. He glared at Draco upon first seeing him, and Draco could tell that today just was not going to be a very good day.

Sir Bartholomew was the second to get the glare, upon entering the portrait to announce that breakfast was ready. Of course, the boisterous Sir Bartholomew could hardly be bothered to care what the young man (who was nearly four centuries younger than he, by the way, thank you very much!) thought.

When Harry was seated at the table, he glared at everyone and everything that came into his view, especially Ron.

He was silent and didn't say anything unless spoken to. If he needed anything, he didn't voice it, and suffered without. When breakfast was over with, everyone left the table a nervous wreck.

Harry went back up to his room shortly after, locking everyone out. Alternating people quietly observed him from the portrait.

When lunchtime rolled around, Harry could hardly be bothered to drag his arse out of bed. Someone that Harry hadn't seen before showed up in the portrait to try to persuade him.

She looked to be a milkmaid, and young, at that, dressed in a simple mud-colored dress and cream-colored apron. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips red, and her long blonde hair pulled back into double braids on either side of her head. She was holding a brown and white striped plaster jug (which was rather old looking) filled with some type of liquid of another, and it sloshed around with each of her movements (which were rather exaggerated, because she was rather well endowed and quite knew it, although Harry hardly bothered to look at all).

"Hello, Harry," she greeted warmly. Her voice was slightly high pitched. "I've come to announce that lunch is ready. Will you be joining us?"

Harry glared at her heatedly. "No," he grumped, rather put out at her for being interrupted from his musings.

"Oh, but why ever not?" the girl asked with a slight pout to her lips. Harry noticed that she had a bit of a Swedish accent.

Harry grunted but didn't answer for a long time. The girl looked at him questioningly, and was about to repeat the question when Harry cut her off harshly.

"Not hungry," his voice was rough. The girl blinked at him for a few moments, before sighing and nodding.

"I will inform Molly," she said, her face falling. She swayed her hips enticingly as she left the portrait, making her dress swing and swish, showing off her delightfully toned and well-painted legs.

Harry didn't notice.

When dinnertime came about, the same girl appeared in the portrait.

"Mister Potter?" she asked, biting her lower lip nervously.

Harry stared at her, having cooled off considerably from that morning. "Yeah?"

"Well, um…you haven't eaten anything since breakfast. I thought that you might…" the girl trailed off, and Harry stared at her.

"Yes?"

"Would you consider coming down for dinner?" she asked, her face lining with worry.

Harry blinked. "Um…yeah, okay." he agreed, but he doubted that he'd be able to stomach anything at all.

Everyone at the table was uptight and nervous, although Harry couldn't quite place why. It might have been because he had been a right bastard that morning, but he was sure there was something else to it, as well.

With a sigh, he dug into the food, stuffing himself to the brink. Molly and Hermione watched him curiously, and Harry smiled alternately between them to assure him that he was okay, but they both seemed worried, and didn't seem to be getting much sleep.

His stomach was hurting by the middle of dinner, and by the end, he was sure he was going to explode. He took a few more bites of the food before him, then dropped his fork and patted his stomach, grimacing slightly.

No one seemed to notice, but Hermione gave him a sharp look, which Harry returned angrily before standing and excusing himself.

He went directly up the stairs, and hovered between the bathroom and his bedroom for a while. He really wasn't feeling too good at that point. He was finding himself regretting going downstairs at all. He hadn't been hungry!

His mind made up, he went into the bathroom.

Hermione excused herself seconds after Harry had left the room, and followed him up the stairs. There was a conversation in order for them, and Hermione had decided to initiate it, since it was most likely that Harry wouldn't.

It was quite odd that Harry was just standing there, and as soon as Hermione spotted him, she instantly became curious as to what he was up to.

Harry lingered in the hall for a few more moments, but then pushed the door to the bathroom open and rushed in. Hermione smiled at her foolishness. Of _course _Harry would have to go to the bathroom, especially after all of the food that he had just consumed. With a smile and a short laugh, Hermione went into Harry's room to wait for him. She would be damned if he was going to lock her out before she found out why he was being such a shit.

_**- - - - - - - - - Beginning - - - - - - - - -**_

Harry stared into the toilet bowl for a few moments. He wasn't quite sure what he wished to accomplish by doing this, but his stomach was about to bust if he didn't do something.

With a grunt, he lowered himself to his knees directly in front of the toilet. Anxiously, he looked back at the door to be sure that he had locked it.

With a sigh of relief at the fact that the door was locked, Harry braced himself with both hands on either side of the toilet bowl, and stared down into the water within.

It made him feel disgusted. What was he about to do? He had absolutely no self-control! But yet…

Harry leaned even closer to the toilet bowl, then began gagging. Saliva formed in his mouth, leaving a disgusting taste behind as he spit it into the toilet. He could feel the strain of the muscles in his throat as they worked to keep his food down even as he forced himself to gag once more.

A small amount of food came up, mixing with the saliva already pooled in his mouth, and he spit it into the bowl, his face scrunched up in disgust. This was not going to work.

With one final attempt at gagging the food out, in vain, of course, Harry sat back on his haunches and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm.

Coughing the food up just wasn't going to work. He needed something to do the work for him. With a glance around the bathroom, his eyes quickly alighted on his toothbrush.

Scrambling quickly to his feet, he grabbed the toothbrush and held it by the handle, looking at it as though it was a valuable treasure. With one final glance around the room, he kneeled before the toilet once more. He checked to make sure the door was locked, and for good measure, pulled out his wand and set up a silencing charm around the room, to assure that no one heard.

With that, Harry steeled himself, braced himself against the toilet bowl with his left arm, and raised the toothbrush (handle end first) to his mouth.

It was quick, jabbing the toothbrush to the back of his throat and letting the forces of nature take over. Of course, Harry wasn't nearly quick enough to get the toothbrush out of his mouth before the fountain of sick rushed up from his stomach, even though he had the best seeker reflexes out there. But it didn't matter, not at that moment.

The toothbrush dropped, forgotten, to the floor, as the throw-up gushed out of Harry's mouth, most of his food still in determinable chunks because they hadn't been digested well enough yet.

Minutes later, Harry was left empty stomached and feeling much better. He was still braced over the toilet bowl, heaving and spitting up bile, but he felt accomplished in some way.

When he had nothing left to give and his abdominal muscles finally gave out on him with one final dry heave, Harry lifted himself to his feet, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and washed his mouth out at the sink.

_**- - - - - - - - - End - - - - - - - - -**_

Braced against the sink, Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired, even he had to admit. He had dark purple bags under his eyes, his hair was in complete disarray (although that was no different from any other time. This time it was just…different, somehow…), and he was utterly pale. His eyes were red-rimmed, as though he had been crying, and his lips were dry and bitter tasting.

With one last look at his reflection, he pushed himself away from the support of the sink, and slowly made his way to the door. With one last check around the bathroom, Harry spotted the toothbrush on the floor, right next to his wand.

With a grunt, Harry bent over to pick the items up and '_Scourgify' _both the floor and the toothbrush. Putting the toothbrush back where it belonged, he did one final check to be sure that everything was in place, flushed the toilet three times for good measure, and took down the silencing charm, before leaving the room with a satisfied smirk on his face.

…

…

…

_Voldemort smirked at the image of Harry leaving the bathroom on the orb that levitated from his fingers. He caressed the glass ball softly, almost caringly, and set it aside on its claw-shaped pedestal. With one last glance at the satisfied look on the Boy Who Lived's face, a malevolent smirk formed, cracking the dry lips and allowing pointy teeth to sharply stab into the lips of their owner. _

_With a sharp flick of his wand, the image faded, leaving the ball clear and innocent looking. _

_And with another flick of his wand, this time directed towards his own head, he found his way into the young boy's mind. _

…

…

…

**A/N: **No, the orb that Voldemort is using to spy on Harry is _not _a Crystal ball.


	14. Dead Inside

**A/N:** Wow, I love you guys! Thanks for all the great reviews! Did you know that this fic nearly has more reviews than FAAR? Ifit gets two more reviews, it'll beat FAAR's record! (I can't wait! Yay!) This fic isn't even close to being over, so I hope that you guys continue to review. Here is some review feedback:

**Jujube15:** lmao, Moldie-Voldie! I love you. Have I told you that? (wide grin)

**Westkitsune:** I completely understand how you feel; I'm exactly the same way! Draco should start to help Harry out a little bit after everyone goes back to school, which should be happening within the next couple of chapters (although the relationship probably won't start for a little bit after that since Draco won't be going to school with them).

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Dead Inside**

School was going to start in one day. Harry was really itching to go back to a life of normalcy, but he really doubted that going back to school would help much. Already, it took so much effort to keep himself together; every day he was getting closer and closer to a nervous breakdown.

Harry felt as though he had died inside. There was nothing left for him to prove, no one left to prove it to, nothing left to live for. Harry sighed.

Hermione glanced at him, eyebrow raised. Harry shook his head and Hermione nodded softly. Harry watched her whisper something to Ginny and she stood, making her way towards him. "You all right?"

After Harry and Hermione had had a short talk, she had sort of let up on her watch over him, and told everyone else to do the same. Now only the portraits watched him constantly. They couldn't follow him into the bathroom though, and that was where he spent a majority of his time.

Harry took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said, averting his eyes. "Just a bit nervous about school."

Hermione nodded and sat down next to him on the couch. "Me too. So many things have changed. Did you know that Parvati's house was raided by Death Eaters at the beginning of this summer?"

Harry looked at her suspiciously. Parvati had been his date to the Yule Ball in fourth year. "Is she okay?"

"I just found out this morning. We really should start getting the Daily Prophet more often. I'm not quite sure about her, but I heard her mother managed to escape, and her younger sister, who's supposed to start attending Hogwarts this year. I haven't heard anything about her,"

"Wow…"

Hermione's lips pressed together and her eyes shone with sadness. "Neville's house was raided, too, but they've been here all summer, so nothing bad's happened there. And I've heard that most of Slytherin is going to be gone because of their Death Eaters relations."

Harry stared at Hermione. Hermione smiled. "Well, I guess you already knew that. But I'll bet you didn't know that nearly half of Ravenclaw is going to be gone as well, did you? Dumbledore and I were talking yesterday. He says he has a sneaking suspicion that Voldemort approached them last year with a proposition. Of course, the people in Ravenclaw are smart, but if they were threatened in any way, I'm sure they would do whatever is in their best interest. And that would be to stay alive, which would mean joining ranks with Voldemort."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Yeah, I never thought of that. It's a good thing we've got you."

Hermione blushed slightly. "Harry, I'm a…a Mudblood. You know that Voldemort would never want me on his side. He's trying to get rid of my kind, not become friends with us!"

"Hermione! You're smart; Voldemort would jump at the chance to have you on his side! He's seen how many times we've escaped from him, just because of you! He may be evil, Hermione, but Voldemort isn't stupid." Harry scolded, glaring at her.

Draco and Ron looked up from their chess game suspiciously. Hermione smiled at Harry sheepishly. "I guess," looking for another subject to go off on, she grinned suddenly. "You know, the Sorting Hat nearly put me in Ravenclaw,"

Ron gulped and Draco raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding, 'Mione! And you never told us?" Ron stood up from his game with Draco and walked over to slump into the chair next to Harry and Hermione's couch.

Hermione blinked. She had completely forgotten that she and Harry weren't alone. "Um, well, I never thought it important."

"Of course it's bloody important! Boy, we're lucky that it didn't, huh, Harry?"

Harry's brow furrowed deeply and he looked between Hermione and Ron searchingly. "Yeah, Ron. I guess we are."

"Well, didn't the Sorting Hat mention putting _you _in any other houses, Ron?" Hermione asked. Her eyes were gleaming with curiosity.

Ron looked at her as if she were crazy. "No," he said, sounding a bit grumpy. "It didn't say anything to me. Was it supposed to?"

Hermione smiled, intrigued. "Well, I don't know. Did it mention putting you anywhere else, Harry?"

Harry stared at Hermione. "Um, well…"

Ron looked at Harry suspiciously. "It didn't, did it Harry?"

"Well, yeah, actually. It kinda…well, it really wanted to put me in Slytherin."

Draco's head shot up, and he stared at Harry wide eyed. "You're kidding." he and Ron shouted at the same time.

"Wow!" Hermione shouted. Ginny looked curiously between the teens and pulled her chair up beside them.

"What?"

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put Harry in Slytherin!" Hermione cried out with a grin.

"Well, of course it wanted to!" Ginny said with a smile.

"Are you kidding me?" Ron shouted. "You've all gone nutters! The darkest wizards are _always _from Slytherin."

Draco stared at Ron, eyebrow raised. "Not all of us are dark, Weasel."

Ron crossed his arms and snorted, but didn't say anything else. Draco glared at Ron. He then turned on Harry. "Why weren't you put in Slytherin, then, Potter? I mean, if the Sorting Hat wanted it so badly…"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, um…I kinda didn't want to be put in Slytherin with you. I mean, we had gotten off on the wrong foot, and all. I just didn't want you to give me such a hard time. Not that it helped, after all," Harry gave Draco a pointed glance. "But I'm sure it probably would have been worse than Gryffindor.

"Besides, nearly everyone in Slytherin is involved with Voldemort in some way. I wouldn't have been able to deal with that, the nightmares, and everything else that went on, especially in those first few years.

"Add to that the fact that I'm not a pure wizard and that I'm the bloody 'Boy Who Lived', and we've got a huge reason for me to be murdered on the spot."

Draco glared but didn't say anything.

Hermione looked between the two curiously, a devilish smirk lighting in her eyes, but she diverted the conversation to Ginny. "So, Ginny, how about you?"

"Well, it thought about Hufflepuff, but I told it right off that I wouldn't, so it put me in Gryffindor instead."

Harry and Draco continued to glare at one another, and Ron crossed his arms, glaring at everyone. Hermione and Ginny went off on their own conversation, ignoring the boys completely.

"Really? I would have thought that Hufflepuff would be a great house to be sorted into," Hermione said, turning towards Ginny excitedly.

"Well, yeah, but my family has never been to keen on being sorted into Hufflepuff. Everyone in our family has been sorted into Gryffindor, ever since the school opened. I don't really want to ruin that tradition, you know?"

"That's true…"

The boys eventually tuned out the girl's conversation, Harry and Draco still glaring at each other heatedly, and Ron quietly leaving the group to find something to eat, though he was still simmering. Hermione got the feeling that he was jealous because he was the only one who the Hat automatically gave a house without even bothering to ask him about it.

Eventually, the girls' conversation lulled. Hermione turned to Harry and Draco curiously.

"If you'll excuse me," Draco said rather coldly. He walked out of the room without finishing his sentence.

Hermione and Ginny looked at Harry curiously. Harry shrugged, and they continued with their conversation about houses.

…

…

…

Dinnertime rolled around similarly to the way it had the week before. Harry was in his room. Alicia had visited earlier that week to check up on him, and had suggested that he adopt poetry to release some of his feelings. He was currently scratching his quill along a short piece of parchment, locked in his room as he had been the day before.

"Silently screaming,

'_Shh, you're just dreaming,'_

Invading,

Violating,

And no one believing.

'_No one will ever believe you,'_

He says over and over,

Like a demented mantra,

A litany of lies,

Until my mind fills with self-doubt,

And my soul with sadness.

Darkness and pain,

He's in me again,

And nowhere is sacred;

My bitter tears streaming,

'_Shh, you're just dreaming.'_

I silently scream;

This is not a dream."

Harry stared down at the poem with his brow furrowed. Alicia had said that she wished to read what poetry he had written at the end of the week, and that he should have at least five poems written, but Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to share this one with her. It was quite personal.

Shuffling came from the portrait above his bed, and Harry hid the poem under his pillow quickly.

"Hello, Harry!" greeted the sweet-looking girl in the picture.

"Um, hi Helga," Harry greeted in return. He and the young-looking girl had become better acquainted over the days that Harry had spent in his room. It seemed that the girl was developing a crush of sorts on Harry. Harry ignored it.

It wasn't that she wasn't beautiful, because she was…but she was a girl in a portrait! Harry couldn't see how it would ever work.

"It is dinnertime," the girl said, peering down at Harry. "What are you writing about?"

Harry looked down at the quill dangling between his fingers. "Um, nothing,"

"Oh, come on, Harry. You can tell me." Helga batted her eyelashes at Harry and smiled widely. Her blue eyes twinkled similarly to Dumbledore's, and Harry shuddered.

"Um, maybe later. I'm pretty hungry." Harry stood quickly, tossing the quill and parchment into his trunk.

Helga looked at him, pouting incredibly, and Harry pulled at his collar and swallowed. To anyone else, it would have seemed as though he was nervous, but in reality, Harry was really just disturbed and more than ready to get away from the flirtatious portrait. Helga smiled delightedly. "You promise, Harry?"

Harry flushed and turned from the doorknob, just about to turn it. "Um, yeah, sure. Okay," he agreed, before hurriedly rushing out of the room.

Hermione greeted him at the table with a smile, along with a disgruntled, angry looking Draco. Ginny was a bit late, but not curiously so, with a suspiciously red-cheeked Neville in tow. Ron, on the other hand, was surprisingly missing from the table.

They ate in relative silence. They had done so for the past few weeks. Lately they hardly had anything to talk about, so of course they didn't talk about anything. Part of the reason was because of nerves; they were all anxious to get back to school. The summer had been longer than they would have liked, and the long, hard days were really beginning to take their toll on the tired teens.

When they were done eating, they all gathered in Harry's room to spend their final night at Grimmauld's Place. They chattered and played even after the lights went out.

Just when Harry was sure that everyone was finally asleep (at nearly three o'clock in the morning, thank you very much), Ginny snuck into Neville's bed (which had been transfigured from one of Harry's shirts, along with Hermione's, Ron's, and her own bed. Draco slept on the bed that was already there). Harry sighed in frustration. He was tired and bloated, and yearned to go to the restroom to relieve himself.

With a grunt, Harry lifted himself from his bed and rushed from the room, ignoring the indignant cries of surprise when he bumped painfully into Ginny and Neville's now shared bed.

When he returned to the room, it was silent. Ginny had returned to her own bed, and Harry supposed that it was probably because of him, but at the moment, he didn't really care.

…

…

…

_Voldemort chuckled to himself as he watched Harry once more make himself sick through the small orb. Yes, his plan was succeeding nicely. By the time Harry Potter's last year at school was over, he would hardly have enough energy to stand, let alone defeat him. Voldemort was sure to win now. _

_The whole room shook with the high-pitched laughter that left Voldemort's mouth like water from a fountain, spilling into the room and pooling into the rest of the house. The maniacal laughter could be heard through the entire mansion._

…

…

…

**A/N:** This chapter was sort of a filler until they go to school, which will be happening in the next chapter. Sorry 'bout that, guys, but sometimes it just has to be done. Aren't you glad that I updated quickly, though?

OMG, I cannot believe that I forgot to put this in! I was in such a rush to update, that it completely left my mind. I do not take credit for this poem, as I did not write it, but one of my good friends did. Sorry about that, Charlie! I promise to remember if I use anyone elses work from now on, and sorry for the inconvienence. (sheepish smile)


	15. A Sorting Gone Wrong

**A/N: **Yes, the Sorting Hat's song this year is a little bit of a stretch. It was somewhat difficult for me to come up with, you see. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it. It probably isn't as long as it should be, or nearly as long as it _could _be, but I'm sure none of you came here just to read the Sorting Hat's song _specifically_. Right?

**Chapter Fifteen**

**A Sorting Gone Wrong**

Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron stood in the foyer of Number Twelve, picking at their new school robes nervously. They were seconds away from leaving for the year, but at the last second, Neville's toad had suspiciously chosen to hop away, resulting in Neville's frantic last minute search, turning over tables and knocking over chairs. He was red in the face from searching, and tough Hermione and the others had offered to help, Neville had declined. He had been certain that he was going to find the toad rather quickly. He was now regretting that decision direly; it seemed that he might have to go to Hogwarts this year without Trevor.

Neville sighed dismally, and his shoulders slumped in defeat, when a croak from the other side of the room caught his attention and he instantly perked up. Eyes filled with hope, he dodged around his grandmother, who was going to say goodbye to everyone in the foyer, and ducked under a table before successfully throwing himself towards the region of the sound and covering a green slimy lump with his hands before it could leap away. Neville let out a triumphant cry as he stood, holding the green blob above his head in a small personal victory.

With a grin and a little bounce to his step, Neville rejoined the group at the foyer to wait.

…

…

…

Harry knew that it was only forty-five minutes later, but to him it felt like hours. Sitting in a relatively empty compartment with Neville and Ginny sitting across from him (awfully close, even to the untrained eye), Harry stared out the window at the gloomy scenery flying past. Hermione and Ron had already gone off to their Prefects meeting. Harry didn't expect them back any time soon.

He knew he should be happy. He should be elated, even, at the fact that they were finally going back to school after a summer that had been too long, with too much occurring. But he wasn't. Today's particular train ride reminded him of another, exactly a year ago, when he had spied on Malfoy. How ironic it was that things had changed so swiftly.

Unconsciously, Harry brought a hand up to his nose, remembering bitterly how Draco had broken it and stepped on his face. It seemed like so long ago. So caught up in his thoughts was he that Harry didn't even notice when Ginny leaned in for her first kiss with Neville, or when Neville fell to the ground with Ginny on top, their lips suctioned together quite tightly.

This was the picture that Hermione and Ron walked in on some minutes later. Harry couldn't be sure exactly of how long they had been gone. With a grimace, Harry was yanked rudely from his musings by Hermione's shriek and Ron's yelp of surprise, followed by vulgarities that even Harry himself had never heard from the purple-faced redhead.

One of the only intelligible words that Harry could understand from Ron was "Off!", and it seemed to be Ron's favorite at the minute, as he shrieked it quite violently and quite often as he viciously grabbed Neville by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out from under Ginny.

"This," Hermione stated as she plopped down beside Harry with a feeble smile. "Is bad,"

Harry smirked sardonically at her. "You think?"

Meanwhile, Ron bodily forced the door to their compartment open and shoved Neville out, tossing Trevor out after him.

"Stay out!" he shouted, his face nearly blue with anger.

Ginny sat staring at Harry sheepishly, wiping her flushed red lips with the back of her arm and averting her eyes towards the scenery rushing past the window.

Ron sat heavily beside her, and there was a pregnant, uncomfortable silence.

Hermione drew out a book from her rucksack, sure that things were fine and would blow over with time, but unfortunately for her, Ron chose just that minute to stand up, glaring at Ginny angrily.

"What, exactly," Ron breathed, his tone a violent whisper. "Were you thinking, Ginevra Weasley?"

Ginny said nothing, though her cheeks flushed a rather pretty pink color.

"And with…with Neville!" Ron seemed almost indignant.

Ginny stood, toe to toe with Ron, her face suddenly bright pink and very angry. "What's wrong with Neville?" she cried out, crossing her arms across her chest in a nearly protective manner. "You didn't have to shove him out like that, by the way. We were only having a bit of fun."

"He's _Neville_, Ginny!" Ron shouted back. "You couldn't pick someone…else?" he finished rather weakly, causing Ginny to glare harder.

"Mind your own business, Ronald," she yelled at him. She bent over to collect the books that had fallen out of her rucksack, slung the bag over her shoulder, and stormed out of the compartment.

"It _is _my business!" Ron shouted back at her, earning many curious stares from fellow students before he slammed the compartment door shut behind her. He deflated as soon as the door shut, though, tossing himself onto the seat and huffing. "She's too young for that kind of relationship," he muttered to himself. "_Especially _with Neville!"

Hermione chuckled to herself; Harry could feel the seat beneath him moving from the vibration of her laughter, though she did a good job of hiding it behind her book, which she held rather close to her face to mask her humor.

Harry sighed and returned to watching the landscape. It was going to be a long day.

…

…

…

Everyone was gathered in the Great Hall for the usual evening festivities the first day back to school had to offer. Of course, to Harry, the festivities seemed more like a painful punishment he was forced to endure, because the only thing he wanted to do was climb into the nice warm four-poster bed up in Gryffindor Tower that was just calling his name.

Harry sighed and rested his head in his hands, nearly missing the short line of first years that crowded in after Professor McGonagall. Ron prodded him sharply in the ribs. "Wake up, Harry! The hat's about to sort the first years!"

Excitedly, Ron rested his elbows on the table, grinning from ear to ear. Hermione and Harry were much more restrained, but that probably had to do with the fact that they weren't quite as excited about the food to follow the sorting ceremony as Ron was.

McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on the stool and stared at it expectantly. Moments later, the hat separated from its frayed brim, opening its makeshift mouth to inhale deeply before bursting into song.

"_I've warned you once before,_

_But I must do it once more,_

_Unite inside dear Hogwarts,_

_Or you'll be part of the score_

_Of the many, many people who have died for the cause,_

_Division of our race,_

_It will be quite a loss,_

_So please, don't make that the case. _

_Though I sort you separately, _

_You must remember that you are one,_

_A class united,_

_By house divided,_

_But house matters none._

_Gryffindor, the brave of heart,_

_Ravenclaw, with all their smarts,_

_Slytherin, full of cunning deftness,_

_And Hufflepuff, the house of patience_

_Together you stand, a pillar of strength,_

_And you take it for granted, _

_For you don't care to know._

_Yet if one house were not here,_

_You'd all feel the blow. _

_Remember, for class unity,_

_May just be the cure._

_And if you are divided, _

_You may be forever more." _

That hat bowed slightly at the nearly over-exuberant applause. Even Harry joined in, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked around the room at everyone else clapping.

An empty table drew his eyes, and the noise of applause was drown out by an overwhelming silence in Harry's ears. Not one single Slytherin was in sight, and the Slytherin table was deserted.

Harry's brow furrowed as he looked at the table. All other tables were full of exuberant people, chattering and laughing, although some Ravenclaws were missing, it was obvious. Yet it seemed that all other students were oblivious of the absent schoolmates.

The noise filtered back into Harry's consciousness, and Harry turned his head just in time to watch as the first three students were sorted.

It was rather nice that although Professor McGonagall was now the new Headmistress, she still handled all of her previous duties. The Headmaster's seat was empty, awaiting McGonagall's return, but somehow, the fact that it was empty was not as horrible as it once would have been.

By the fourth student, silence reined supreme in the Great Hall as all students' attention was drawn towards the front. When Abby Hall, who had been sorted into Hufflepuff, had been seated, McGonagall's brow wrinkled as she looked at the long list of names. For such a long list of names, Harry noted, there weren't that many students.

Professor McGonagall looked worriedly at the Teacher's Table, making eye contact with Snape, then cleared her throat and looked away. "Henry Gordon?" she called. The first years looked around themselves curiously, but no one stepped forward. "Henry?" McGonagall called once more. She observed the cluster of first years, who were nervously wringing their hands.

"Mister Gordon?" Professor McGonagall announced once more, eyes sweeping over the students. With a dismal nod, she continued on down the list.

This happened nearly twenty times, though Harry wasn't one to keep count. Hermione suspected that the missing children were supposed to be Slytherin.

"Did you notice how none of the first years got sorted into Slytherin? There aren't any Slytherins over at their house table, either." Hermione had commented after the feast had begun. Ron was busily digging into his food, and therefore barely noticed the conversation.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "It _is _pretty suspicious."

"Harry," Hermione said exasperatedly as she spooned some mashed potatoes onto her plate. "It's more than suspicious. It gives us even more reason to suspect that their parents are Death Eaters. I'll bet they went to Drumstrang.

"I'm going to owl Viktor tonight and ask him if they have any extra students this year. I think their school year started last week, so he should know."

Ron stiffened at the notion of Hermione having any contact with Krum, but didn't say anything. Harry knew it was a sore spot, even though Hermione and Ron were going out and Ron didn't have anything to worry about, so he didn't say anything else on the subject. Hermione seemed oblivious to the shift in Ron's mood, as she plotted to find out the reason why there were no Slytherins this year.

Harry sighed and rested his head on the table.

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, Ron was once again elbowing him in the ribs. "You all right, Harry?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just tired. You know, since we woke up early this morning and all."

Ron nodded in understanding. "I know the feeling, mate. I'm tired to, as a matter of fact. There should be no problem sleeping tonight, eh?" Ron grinned at Harry. Harry returned the smile half-heartedly.

"Yeah," he agreed. He looked away, though, thinking of the bad dreams that had plagued him for the past few days. "Yeah," he said again. "No problems at all."

"You gonna eat that?" Ron asked after a bit of an uncomfortable silence (mostly on Harry's part, as Ron was quite comfortable and hadn't noticed it anyway). Harry looked down at the piece of pie that was piled on his plate, and wondered how it had happened. "No. I'm not very hungry."

Ron swooped down on the pie immediately, devouring it in seconds. Hermione observed suspiciously. "You haven't eaten very much, Harry. And not just now, either. You weren't eating much at Number Twelve, as I recall. Are you okay?"

Harry nodded. "I've just got a bit of a headache, is all. It should go away soon," at Hermione's suspicious look, Harry sighed. "I'm fine, 'Mione. Promise."

Hermione nodded, but she didn't seem to take Harry's explanation to heart.

…

…

…

Later that night, when Harry was sure that Neville, Seamus, Dean and Ron were all asleep, he snuck into the bathroom and disposed of the few contents in his stomach.

…

…

…

**A/N: **This chapter is short, as I'm sure you noticed. Sorry 'bout that. But I'm on a roll! (proud grin) The chapters may be a bit shorter, but they will be updated a lot more often now. School is officially out for summer! YAY!

Lol, well, the next update should be in the next couple of days. It seems that my muse has reappeared! I don't think we'll have to wait 'till the end of the summer for this fic to be over, much as I don't want for it to be. But hey, we've got to get some comfort in here for Harry, as a lot of you have said already. Much as I hate to do it, it's gonna have to get worse for Harry (probably a lot worse) before it gets any better. Sorry, guys! (frown)


	16. Sickliness and Schedules

**Edit:** I seems that I made a mistake with Harry and Ron's classes (TWICE! Can you believe it!), so I've changed them around so that Ron has Transfigurations first and Harry has Potions first. Sorry 'bout that!

**Edit2:** This could get old fast, eh? Well, it seems that somehow, I've also royally screwed up Hermione's schedule, as well. Ithink things are all patched up for now, though, so go ahead and enjoy the rest of the fic. _SORRY_, guys! I was just anxious to get this chapter out, and hadn't realized.

**A/N: **Review reply time! (grin)

**Harmony8390:** Thank you! I've read a lot of fics like that, too. I think they were part of the reason I decided to write this one. I'm glad that you like the fic, and no hard feelings for reviewing. I sometimes forget to review, too, so don't feel bad. And that was most definitely a compliment! (blushes) Thanks! I'll look forward to reading reviews from you in the future. (No matter how long they are!) Like you said (only switching around the words a bit), just because a review is short doesn't make it crap. I love reviews of any kind!

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Sickliness and Schedules**

Harry was late waking up that morning, though not nearly as late as Ron was. When he got out of the shower, Ron was still asleep. With a shrug, Harry left for the Great Hall. He really wanted to get his schedule. With another glance over his shoulder, Harry decided that Ron probably wouldn't be down for breakfast, and it would be best if he got his schedule for him as well.

Hermione was already in the Great Hall, as Harry had suspected she would be, pouring over a short piece of paper with a frown on her face. "What's that?" Harry asked as he plopped himself down beside her.

"It's my schedule," she said, her brows wrinkled in concentration. "But there seems to be a mistake,"

"What's that?" Harry asked, scooping a generous portion of eggs onto his plate.

Hermione looked up. "Oh, I see you got your appetite back," she pointed out, though her eyes glistened knowingly. Harry gulped guiltily.

"Yeah," he said, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth and talking around them. "I'm not nearly as tired as I was yesterday, either. But I think Ron's gonna be sleeping for a bit longer."

Hermione snorted. "He's going to have to get used to waking up earlier from now on. How's he ever going to support a job if he sleeps in like a slob all the time?" Hermione asked, turning back to her schedule.

"He'll probably get a job in the afternoon," a cold voice said over Harry's shoulder. Hermione started and looked up to see Ron glaring down at her. He was, for some reason, still wearing his pajamas, and he looked rather sleep-mussed.

Hermione blushed.

"Um, sorry, Ron," Hermione said quietly.

Ron ignored her, instead finding the slice of toast he was currently buttering quite interesting.

Harry sighed. "Look, you guys, this is really awkward," he said, placing an arm on Ron's shoulder. "She was just looking out for you."

Ron shot a glare at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

Just then, Professor McGonagall swooped down on them. "Hello, boys," she greeted them happily. "Your schedules?" she motioned towards a quite large pile of papers in her hands.

Harry and Ron nodded enthusiastically, and McGonagall handed them along without further ado.

Comparing, they found that they both had the same classes, once again, and nearly the exact same schedules. The only difference was that Harry had Potions first, while Ron had Transfigurations, and Ron had Potions after lunch while Harry had Transfigurations.

Ron shrugged at this. "Oh, well," he said, his voice rather cheerful. Harry eyed him warily. "At least we haven't got Snape this year. Oi, Hermione! What classes have you?" with that, Ron snatched Hermione's schedule right from under her nose. Hermione cried out in protest, but Ron ignored her, as he looked hers over. "Brilliant!" he nearly shrieked as he looked her schedule over once more to confirm.

"What?" Hermione asked in worry. "Not another mistake, I hope,"

"Bloody hell, no!" Ron protested, handing Hermione's schedule over to Harry.

"Well then what is it?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"We've got the same schedule," Ron exclaimed, eyes shining. Hermione crossed her arms, and the shine left. "What?"

"That's exactly the _problem_," Hermione exclaimed in disdain. "We have _exactly _the same schedule. I don't have Arithmancy _or _Ancient Runes!"

Ron looked at her in disdain. "You're kidding, right? You mean you really care about those classes?"

Hermione glared at him. "Shut up, Ronald, and eat your eggs."

Ron looked taken aback, and sulked for the rest of the meal, as Hermione stalked off towards Professor McGonagall.

Harry blinked. "You know," he said, looking over at a sulky Ron, who pushed the food around on his plate but didn't eat anything more. "I keep thinking of McGonagall as 'Professor'. Isn't that weird?"

"I guess," Ron said thoughtfully. "I mean, she is the Headmistress, but I still think of her as a professor, too, so it can't be that weird."

"D'you think other people are the same?"

"I dunno," Ron tapped his chin with the handle of his fork thoughtfully. "I mean, we probably think of her as 'Professor' because we know the…truth," Ron waggled his eyebrows and Harry laughed. "But I'm sure there are others that are the same way."

Just then, Hermione came back, looking smug but slightly sad at the same time. "What's wrong, Hermione?" Ron asked worriedly, hoping it wasn't something that he had done.

Hermione seemed to have forgotten about their earlier fight, and Ron was glad. "Well, I've got Arithmancy back, but Ancient Runes is full."

"That's all right, though," Ron comforted, pushing Harry over and slinging an arm around Hermione's waist. "You've still got classes with me, yeah?"

Hermione met his eyes, and her heart melted just a bit. She cracked a smile. "All but your free period after Potions, yes," she said after a heart throbbing silence. "But I've got Potions with Harry,"

Harry broke the moment with a snort. Hermione blushed and pulled away from Ron, who looked disappointed at the loss of contact.

"Well," Harry said, clearing his throat to break the awkward silence. "We've got a free hour now. What are we going to do? After I go to the bathroom, that is,"

Hermione looked at Harry curiously. "What?"

Harry blushed in embarrassment. "I've, er…I need to use the loo," he said, cheeks flushing a bright scarlet.

Hermione smirked. "Oh, okay. Well, how about we meet up in the commons, then?"

Ron nodded enthusiastically, and before Harry could reply, off they were, Ron clutching Hermione by the arm and all but dragging her after him.

Harry rolled his eyes and with a sigh, stood up and found his way to the nearest bathroom.

…

…

…

It was quite odd, Harry had decided, that no one knew what he was doing in his constant after-meal trip to the loo. But of course, he didn't blame anyone. And he wasn't complaining, by any stretch. He was rather thankful.

With one final heave over the toilet, which to his dismay smelt rather rancid, Harry stood and flushed it, wiping his mouth with the cuff of his robe.

Staring down at the sick that swirled down the toilet, he noted, offhandedly, of course, that it had an odd green hue to it. With a grimace and a smirk, Harry went to the sink and rinsed out his mouth, staring at himself in the mirror over the faucet.

He had to admit, at least to himself, that though he didn't look too good, he didn't look all that bad, either. His cheeks were full and had a slight pink tint to them (probably because of all the exertion it took to make himself sick), and his eyes were glowing brighter than ever before. He didn't look too bad. But for some reason, he had to continue to convince himself as such the whole way back up to the Gryffindor common room.

…

…

…

It was finally their first class of the day, and Harry was rather anxious to find out who their new potions teacher was. It would have been nice if it was Professor Slughorn, but Harry knew that it wouldn't be. There were only a few people besides him, Neville and Hermione in this class, and Harry eyed the other people (mostly Ravenclaws that he didn't know, or remember) warily.

A sound at the front of the room drew his attention, and Harry looked up just in time to seem Madam Pomfrey enter the room, robes billowing in a way very reminiscent of one Severus Snape. "Today," she said briskly, ignoring the excited chattering her entrance had brought on. "We will be studying the Draught of Peace, as I am sure several of you will need it before the year is out. If your potion is successful, you may keep it. I will be testing it on you before you take it, however, so that we may make sure there are no fatal effects. Now then," Madam Pomfrey turned towards the board, and with a flick of her wand, instructions filled the board.

"I know that you have studied this once before, in fifth year, if I am correct, but we are making a double batch today. It will serve you well to follow the instructions _clearly_." She shot Harry a glance when she said the last word, causing Harry to flush. "You may begin,"

Before Madam Pomfrey turned away, though, Hermione raised her hand anxiously. Harry set about doinghis work. "Why, Professor, are we reviewing?" Hermione asked.

"Is it not normal procedure," Madam Pomfrey asked. "To review one's subject after a long break from it?"

Hermione flushed. "Well, yes, it is, but we usually don't-"

"Miss Granger, this is my classroom now, and you would do well to remember that."

With that, Madam Pomfrey turned and left the room, probably entering her office to grade papers from the period before.

When there were ten minutes to go, Madam Pomfrey emerged from the office. All of the cauldrons were emitting a light silver vapor, as should be, and she grinned softly. "Very well done, all of you. Now I will be testing your product."

Minutes later, everyone's potion had been tested, and not one of them had come out badly. "Very, very good!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed at the end of the class. "Now, if you will collect two flagons of your potion and bring it to the front, without your names, please, you may keep the rest. Now, I must warn you not to drink more than a tablespoon at a time, unless you want to sleep all day." With a smile, she once again left them to do as she had instructed.

Harry looked down at his potion, remembering the way he had fouled it up back in fifth year. Maybe it was the pressure that Snape had put on him to be perfect, but Harry was quite proud, nonetheless. He was sure he would have fouled it up once more, if Snape was still the teacher. Although, if Snape was still the teacher, he probably wouldn't even be here at all.

Harry grinned and scooped his potion into flagons, bringing two to the front of the room, and pocketing the third. Then, with a flick of his wand, his cauldron was empty, and he packed up his stuff.

Harrywatched Hermione as she struggled a bit to get the potion into the flagon. He had opened his mouth to offer help, but Hermione glared at him, and he instantly shut it.

At last, Hermione was finished, and they left the room, Hermione much quieter than usual. Lunch proceeded without much occurring, and Harry didn't eat much. Hermione watched him all throughout, so Harry was forced to eat a bit to make her not suspicious, but he regretted it later, as his stomach was screaming at being filled. He had probably eaten too much.

With a groan, Harry once more made himself sick in the restroom after a meal. His throat was sore and dry and screamed in protest as his halfway digested food forced itself back up. It was difficult to make himself be silent this time, but somehow he managed.

Harry stared down into the toilet. The sick just came coming! He had certainly eaten too much. With a swear as another gag caused even more food to produce itself from his stomach, Harry promised himself that he would never, ever, under any circumstances, eat that much, ever again.

When he was finished, he groaned and flopped to the side, leaning against the metal stall door for more support than he would have liked, but too pooped to do anything but lounge on the floor to regain his strength.

Thank God that Hermione was in Arithmancy right now. What would she think of him if she found out he was making himself get sick? Harry groaned once more as he thought of it, and tried to force himself to think of something brighter.

"Harry?"

Harry was startled out of his thoughts as he heard the bathroom door creak open.

"Harry, are you in here?"

Harry nearly decided not to answer Ron, but he knew that if he stayed the way he was, Ron would be able to see his feet sticking out from under the stall. "Yeah, Ron, I'm here," Harry managed to grind out. His throat was gritty from the sick, and all too late, Harry realized that he had forgotten to flush the toilet.

"You okay, mate?" Ron asked, pushing the stall door open roughly. It nearly hit Harry in the head, but it missed by mere inches.

"Oh, Harry, you look terrible!" Ron said, his voice full of surprise. "You didn't seem too bad at lunch. Was it something you ate?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I think I ate too much, though." Well, it wasn't exactly a lie, was it?

Ron shook his head. "Do you think you'll be all right in our next classes? I mean, you can stay here and get some sleep, if you want," Ronsuggested, gesturing towards the open door of the bathroom, that led to the boy'sdormitory of Gryffindor."But-"

"I'll be fine, Ron," Harry said, attempting to stand. Ron stuck out his hand and helped Harry to his feet.

Harry flushed the toilet, and made his way to the sink to wash out his mouth and greedily drink down some water. His throat was sore, parched, and hot. He groaned in near-pleasure as the cool water flowed easily down his throat.

When he was finished cleaning up, Ron was staring at him warily. "You aren't going to get sick on me, are you, mate?" Ron asked after an awkward silence.

Harry shook his head, smiling. "No, I'll be fine. I just stuffed myself too full, is all. I'm fine now."

Ron smiled gratefully. "Good," he said, and they left the room without another word.

…

…

…

**A/N:** I'm just turning them out today! Wowzers! WELCOME BACK, MUSE! Where have you been? Lol, well, review! Hopefully this writing streak will continue, eh? (grin) This one's even longer than the last chapter! YAY!

I promise there will be some Draco-lovin' next chapter…hopefully! (cringes away from audience) Please don't kill me if there isn't! Although I've got some pretty good plans in store for these two. (grins mischievously)


	17. Caught in the Act

**A/N: **Wow, look at all those reviews! When I got into my email, I was like a little kid in a candy shop. So many reviews, so little time! Your reviews inspired me to type up another chapter immediately! (grin) _You _guys keep up the good work! Somehow, I get the feeling that _you _are doing more work than _I _am, just by keeping me upbeat and ready to get up and go another round! You guys are lovely!**A/N2: **I have a sneaking suspicion that my computer is getting another virus, as I wrote this chapter two days ago and I haven't been able to post it. I hope not, but one can never be too sure. In the next few days, my computer will be undergoing some tests and the like (as I no longer have any anti-virus or virus-blocker programs. They expired (sheepish smile)…Does anyone know of any that are free that I can download over the internet? If so, I would love to know about them!), but never fear, as this will not hinder my updates…hopefully! (blush)**A/N3: **Since I've been making so many mistakes lately, I was wondering if anyone would like to be my beta for this fic! More than one would be great, even. Just say so in your review, or email me at c-beta(at)hotmail(dot)com, and we can work something out. Much as I would hate to take longer to update, I'm sure you guys would like the chapter better if it didn't have so many mistakes, and a beta can catch mistakes that even I miss at times. (sheepish grin)

**Review Response**

**I like only harry something fanfics lol: **You're right; Harry does have a bit of an anorexia problem, as well. It's sort of a mix between anorexia and bulimia, if you ask me, because he both eats very little and throws it up, and then doesn't eat at all at some points. In later chapters, the anorexia part will become clearer, I'm sure. He won't be able to brush it off as not being hungry forever, will he? (cringes) I really hate to have to put Harry through this, but it _is _appropriate at some points. Anyway, I will continue to keep Ron oblivious, if you wish, because to tell you the truth, stupid!Ron is my favorite! Lol…I hope chapters will be longer, but one can only hope. I usually set a goal for myself; six pages or longer, and usually if it's shorter than six, I don't publish it until it is (this chapter's ten pages long ((an estimated 3561 words in all)). Yay!). (pats self on back at discipline) lol, well on with the fic, then!

**high maintenance: **Awwww, but I like to have a big head! Lol, thank you sooo much! (wide grin)

**Harmony8390: **I'm sure he will (read this chapter, you may be a bit surprised…although the title sort of gives it away…), as many reviewers have asked for it to be that way, and my muse enjoys making its public happy, after all. (grin) Yes, I'm sure that this will probably be the longest fic I'll ever write (or at least I'm hoping that it will be. ((crosses fingers))). Anyway, muses _are _tricky buggers, aren't they? I think that reviews keep mine around, though, so thank goodness for you guys!

**JennytheSpam: **Oh, I'm glad that it makes sense! I was so worried that no one would like that idea, but I figured that since she _is _the Mediwitch, and that since potions is required to _become _a Mediwitch, that it would fit perfectly. (I didn't want to bring in an OC at this point in time, especially since we're so far into the fic already.) Thank you for confirming that! (wide grin)

**Kurimishu:** First, to answer your question; read on, and you'll find out. (grin) Yes, it is quite down heartening to find all those other fics with _waaay_ more reviews than I've got, but I'm sure that those are wonderful fics, and I'm sure that the authors responsible for those fics are amazing! I'm happy with the reviews I've got now, and though I hope to get more, I'd also be happy with as many as I've got. Thanks for the good luck wish, though, 'cause to get 1124+ reviews, I'm sure going to need it. (grin)Lnbear2004: (giggles gleefully) foreshadowing….I don't think anyone's used that word yet. Come to think of it…I hadn't even thought about it as foreshadowing at all until you brought it up. Thanks so much!

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Caught in the Act**

The day's classes had taken their toll on Harry. Hermione and Ron had abandoned him in the commons nearly two hours ago, and Harry would have continued to sleep, but a weird hissing noise coming from the near vicinity - most likely the fireplace - woke Harry up.

"Psst. Potter! Wake up," the voice sounded oddly familiar. Harry groaned and attempted to roll over, nearly falling to the ground, because instead of his bed, as he had expected, he was sitting upright in a very comfortable, cushy armchair.

"Go 'way," Harry muttered, inhaling deeply and attempting to fall asleep.

"Don't make me come in there, Potter. The layout of your common room is rancid and I'm afraid I might go blind at the sight of Gryffindor colors plastered everywhere. Get up."

Harry grunted.

"Potter!" Though the voice was only a whisper, it held authority, and nearly caused Harry to jump out of his chair in surprise.

"Whad'dya want?" Harry groaned out, cracking one eye open. He was startled to see the face of Malfoy in the fireplace.

"Come over here," Draco hissed. Harry blinked at him curiously, raising one eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Just bloody do it! You know, kneeling on this floor is all but comfortable, and I've been doing it for nearly ten minutes, trying to wake your lazy arse up! Besides, if anyone comes in, they'll think you're trying to start the fire up again, instead of talking to me. If they saw me, they'd think that I was here to kill you, and we both know that that's not the case, so get over here this instant!"

"What time is it?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse from sleep, his glasses askew and his hair more ruffled than normal.

"One o'clock in the morning," Draco replied. He looked very impatient as Harry stretched, fixed his glasses, and _finally _stood to make his way towards the fireplace. When Harry was kneeling, Draco nodded and smirked.

"Well if it's so late, why are you here, then?" Harry asked suspiciously. His vision was still a bit bleary, and staring into the hot coals of the fire wasn't helping much.

"Well," Harry could see Draco's hand come up to rub the back of his neck, almost sheepishly, and he was sure that if Draco's face didn't blend in with the coals, he would be able to see some pink tinting those perfect cheeks. Harry grinned lopsidedly. "Actually, it was because Hermione wanted me to talk to you," Harry's face immediately fell, and he drew away slightly.

"A…about what, exactly?" Harry asked, suddenly defensive.

"Well, she's been pretty suspicious about something or other lately. She hasn't exactly given me the details quite yet, but I'm sure it has something to do with what you've been eating lately...or something. At least, that was what I could collect earlier today when she came in to grab a few things she left behind. I don't know,"

Harry blinked, his eyes suddenly blazing. "You're kidding, right?"

Draco glared up at Harry. "No! And well…that and…I was bored. I wasn't quite sure that you'd be here or not, but I figured I'd take my chances. And besides, it would have been great fun to scare the shite out of some unsuspecting first years, especially Gryffindors!" Draco exclaimed gleefully. This time it was Harry's turn to glare.

"You will not go around scaring my housemates, Draco," Harry growled. Draco smiled gleefully once more.

"I don't suspect there's much you can do about it, is there?" he asked, eyebrows raised mockingly.

Harry grunted, but otherwise ignored him. "Well, get on with it, then."

"Well…I'm bored. So entertain me. Do some tricks or something,"

Harry glared. "Entertain yourself!" he exclaimed irritably. "I'm tired, and I have classes tomorrow!"

"Well, it would help if you would _eat _something," Draco grumbled.

"I _do _eat things!" Harry ground out with another glare. "Shut up!"

"From what I've heard from Hermione, you don't eat much, and she's pretty sure you make yourself sick afterwards." Draco replied, all business now.

"How the bloody hell would she know what I do?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Well, perhaps it's the frequent trips to the loo that set off her suspicions. But she and Ron had a bit of a talk, and-"

"Shut the bloody hell up!" Harry whispered, his voice deadly. Draco immediately clamped his mouth shut. "Hermione doesn't know what she's talking about."

"But the Weasel told her that he found you in the bathroom-"

"I've been a bit sick lately, is all," Harry muttered, his eyes glowing with anger.

"Well, Potter, I can't say that Granger believes you, but _I_ do, if it's any compensation."

Harry leered. "It's not, I assure you."

Draco smiled smugly. "Be that as it may, _I'm _not the one you have to worry about, if you well remember,"

Harry's right eye twitched, and he pulled away from the fire, the heat that was consuming his face too much - and not all of it was from the fire, either. "Look, Malfoy," he ground out, standing and brushing his jeans off. "I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. I suspect that you can find your own way out of that fireplace, as you found your way to it just fine. You won't be here in the morning, will you?" Harry raised his eyebrows in question, and Draco sighed.

"You imbecile. Do you really think I'd fancy burns on my face? Not to mention my hair being burnt off. No, I rather think I'll come back tomorrow night, after I get some sleep myself, thank you very much."

Harry shrugged and turned away.

"Potter," Draco stopped him, and Harry blinked before turning around to face him.

"What?"

"Just…please eat something, okay? We can't have our hero dying of malnutrition. Promise?"

Harry just glared.

"Promise me, Potter," Draco demanded, his voice commanding and eyes full of malice.

"Why do you care, exactly?" Harry asked, allowing himself to collapse on the armchair once more.

Draco sighed and stared at Harry intently for many silent minutes. "I just do. That should be enough for you. Potter, you won't die against Voldemort, I know you won't. Be we can't have you killing yourself before you even get the chance to try!"

Harry tilted his head to the side, thinking on it deeply. "You're right, Malfoy," he decided. Draco's eyes lit up, and Harry was shocked as their true color came through the flames momentarily. "I mean, starving myself isn't helping anyone. I guess I will eat some more. And just for the record, I _have _been eating things."

Draco eyed him calculatingly. "And that's why you're so skinny, then?"

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. "Look, I've been stressed lately. I've eaten, but not much. And I'm not that skinny. You make it sound as if I'm going to keel over any second, or something."

"Or something," Draco agreed. Harry glared. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco sighed. "Nothing. Just promise me, already, so I can get to sleep,"

"But I thought you were bored," Harry said, staring critically at Draco.

"Well, I was, but that doesn't mean that I'm not tired, as well,"

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to promise me, or not?" Draco asked imploringly, his eyes searching Harry's face for something Harry couldn't place. "Because I can still come in there, you know. It wouldn't be pretty,"

"So you're going to force me to promise you one way or the other, then, is that right?"

Draco nodded, smirking smugly. "Pretty much," he agreed. Harry sighed.

"I've already said that I'll eat more," he said, his tone bored, tired and angry all at once. Draco found himself wondering how exactly Potter could pull something like that off. He never had been able to before.

"Yes," Draco agreed. "But that doesn't mean you've promised."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, I promise already. Now can I go?"

"Somehow, I get the feeling that you don't quite mean that." Draco said, eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Well, get over the feeling. I'm going to bed."

With that, Harry turned on his heal and walked away.

Draco found that he had a rather nice view of Harry's arse from this vantage point, and didn't leave until Harry had all but disappeared up the stairs to the boys' dormitories, with images of certain parts of Potter stuck in his head, destined to keep him awake all night.

…

…

…

The next day, Harry looked petulantly down at the eggs, bacon and toast piled high on his plate. He had no intentions of eating all of it, and he couldn't believe that he had promised Malfoy that he would eat more, even after promising himself only hours before that he would never eat as much as he had.

At Hermione's glance towards him, he grunted and glared, and refused to talk to her when she asked him to pass the spread. Ron looked between them curiously, but Harry ignored Ron, as well, opting to, instead, push the scrambled eggs around on his plate.

Ron broke the tense silence. "You okay, mate?"

Harry grunted in return.

"Um, okay. Well, then…oh, I know! You're upset because the Chudley Cannons won last night's game, aren't you! You owe me ten galleons! Ha!"

Ron stood up triumphantly, pointing teasingly at Harry and causing many disturbed and curious glances to be thrown his way.

"Yeah, Ron," Harry agreed, his voice cold and distant. "That's exactly the reason."

Ron grinned smugly. "I knew it," he said, eyes gleaming. "See, 'Mione? I told you I knew why he was acting all weird. He's just upset that he lost the bet, see?" With that, he turned back to Harry. "I told you they were a good team, mate."

Harry glowered and Ron grinned. Hermione grimaced. "He confronted you last night, didn't he?" she asked in low tones, so as not to draw anymore unwanted attention to themselves.

"What do you think, 'Mione?" Harry asked with a scowl.

"I'm sorry, but it's for the best. Harry, we really can't have you die, especially not now."

With that, Harry stood abruptly. "And what if I want to die, Hermione?" he asked, his voice cold. This drew many startled gasps and stares, and Harry grimaced. He hadn't realized he had said it nearly as loud as he had.

With a sigh, Harry spun on his heal and made his way towards the bathroom.

When no one followed him immediately, Harry knew that he was safe to fix it, and he proceeded to throw up all the contents of his stomach, leaning weakly over the toilet afterwards. "I'm fine," he muttered to himself. "Perfectly healthy. Perfectly…"

Standing, he flushed the toilet. But when he left the stall, he was face to face with none other that Draco himself. Harry gave a startled gasp.

"I told you I would come in here, Harry," Draco said, his eyes gleaming angrily. "And you promised to eat more. Sorry to tell you, but this," Draco gestured towards the toilet. "this isn't healthy, Potter."

Harry scowled. "I'm fine, Malfoy. And the last time I checked, my wellbeing was not your business." With that, he pushed past Draco and made his way towards the sink. "How did you get here, anyway?" He asked, washing his face before swishing some water in his mouth and spitting the sour tasting liquid out.

"Hogwarts' floo is open to Number Twelve," Draco muttered. "No one knows, since it's un-plottable."

"How'd you get here so fast, then? And without anyone seeing you?"

Draco blushed slightly, though Harry couldn't see it as he was still cleaning himself up and didn't bother to look in the mirror, because of the fear of what he might see. His eyes had begun to get a haunted look to them that he didn't quite like looking at.

"Well," Draco seemed reluctant to tell.

"Well…?"

Draco sighed. "I used your invisibility cloak. You've been in here for over half an hour, by the way. Hermione came and got me during her free hour. She's in class now, though."

Harry nodded, wiping the excess water off of his face with the sleeve of his robe, before turning around. "Good."

"She's only concerned about you Potter. This can't be good for you. I mean, look at yourself." Draco gestured towards Harry, and he flushed.

"I'm fine." Harry growled out.

"No, Harry, you're not," Draco said, stepping closer.

Harry stepped away, backing into the sink. Draco still approached. The sink was digging into the flesh of Harry's back, and Harry's eyes darted around the room, looking for a way to get out. "I'm fine, Malfoy. Wha…what are you doing? Stop! Get away from me!" Harry ran towards the door, but was too slow. Draco cast a silent spell, and the door locked.

Harry wiggled the handle violently, but to no avail. Draco still approached him.

"Harry, you've got to trust me when I say this is a problem."

"No," Harry said. His voice was a whisper, and though Draco had to strain to hear it, he still heard it all the same. "No, it's not a problem. I've got it under control. I'm fine."

…

…

…

Voldemort watched through his orb, a silent smirk adorning his face. Of course, he couldn't see Draco, and had no clue that it was Draco who was talking to the Potter boy. He didn't even have an inkling of the fact that, just beneath his nose, Malfoy was betraying him.

Oh, but he loved to watch Potter squirm. "It's not a problem, Wormtail," he said, cackling. "He's got it under control."

Wormtail laughed slightly, not knowing if it was a good thing to let his guard down or not. Voldemort's laughter ceased immediately.

"We must find out about this boy. He is very seriously ill, and weak to boot. This may be the perfect time to attack." Turning towards the cowering servant, Voldemort smirked, his yellowed teeth gleaming in the candle light. "Wormtail, see if this boy has any other weaknesses. We must know in order to defeat him."

Turning away, he grinned widely. Or, rather, grinned as wide as his nearly rotted away face would allow. "Yes, this **boy**. He is but a boy, Wormtail. That, in and of itself, is a weakness."

A wave of his hand, and the orb cleared, the picture fading away like smoke being blown in the wind. It was placed once more on it's claw-like pedestal, and Voldemort began to chuckle lightly to himself.

The chuckle quickly turned to something more, and for the second time that week, Voldemort's lair was wracked with high pitched, maniacal laughter.

…

…

…

Somehow, Draco's arms had found their way around Harry's waist. Harry had to wonder how it had happened, and why he wasn't fighting them. Draco's head rested on Harry's shoulder, and his body was trembling for some reason. If Harry didn't know any better, he could have sworn it was because Draco was crying. For some reason, he found himself wanting nothing more than to comfort Draco.

With a sigh, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco. "Are you okay?"

Draco remained silent, though his arms tightened around Harry.

Harry felt tense, and he realized that this probably wasn't helping Draco much. Little did he know that it wasn't Draco that needed the help, and that Draco had broken down because he was worried about _him_.

As Harry finally let himself relax, Draco pulled away, and Harry found himself missing Draco's warm touch.

"I'm fine, Harry. But you…you need to stop this. Okay?" He looked soulfully into Harry's eyes, and Harry found that he could not say no to Draco. Not now.

With a sigh, Harry nodded.

Draco smiled wanly. "I've got to leave, before someone detects me. I'll come back tonight. Meet me in the Gryffindor common room at midnight."

Harry nodded, and Draco flung Harry's invisibility cloak around himself. "Sorry I took this, by the way."

Harry smiled slightly. "That's all right. I get the feeling that you need it more than I do; at least for now, anyway."

Beneath the cloak, a smile tugged at Draco's lips as he left the room.

'I am **not** falling for Potter,' Draco assured himself, repeatedly, the whole way to Gryffindor tower. Glancing around himself, he sighed in relief when he saw that no one would see if he flooed away. And that was exactly what he did.

…

…

…

**A/N: **Okay, not very _much _Draco lovin' this chapter, but hey, there still _was _some! (grins) There may be more next chapter, though there are no guarantees. (dodges any and all rotten objects thrown in my direction) Sorry!


	18. The New DADA Teacher

**Review Response**

**Kurimishu: **lol, well, I don't see why you can't throw rotten food at Voldemort. It seems only fair. But be warned that he may kill you (cringe)…or, well…at least glare evilly at you with his scary red eyes. I don't think I'd be able to stand it if my fans were killed! Thank you for offering your muse up to me! I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever done! (grins and blushes madly) That's okay, temper is good sometimes. It will make me update faster, I hope.

**zephyrlight: **Mwahahahahaaaaa! You just wait and see _why _Voldemort couldn't see Draco! Mwahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Lol, sorry. There's a very evil plot going on here, but I can't let you know what it is yet. (evil grin/grimace) (P.S. Cursing is fine. It sparks the muse! (grin). I loved the way you told everyone off! Woot!) (P.P.S. Snape was still there because they only _pretended _to kill Dumbledore. That's why Draco can't go back to school but is instead being housed there for protection, _along _with Snape and Dumbledore.) (P.P.P.S I know you don't like Alicia. As a matter of fact, you've made it quite obvious that you don't, lol. Which is why I'm sorry to say that she will be making an appearance here very shortly. Be prepared with the torches and pitchforks! (cringe))

**Chapter Eighteen**

**The New Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher**

Harry climbed the steps toward Gryffindor Tower tiredly at the end of the day. He really wasn't looking forward to seeing Malfoy tonight, and he was reduced to a nervous wreck because of it, being jumpy in classes and nearly falling asleep from the strain it put on him.

He hadn't thrown up since Draco had caught him, and he felt empty. On a regular day, he was up to doing it at least five times, and he was missing it incredibly. Of course, he hadn't exactly stuffed himself full of food, and he didn't want to digest it, but frankly, he had no choice, especially if Draco deemed it proper to leave Number 12 at any time he pleased to check up on Harry.

Voices stopped Harry in his tracks, ironically just around the corner from the portrait of the Fat Lady, whom was being joined by a rather old looking woman wearing her silver hair up in a tight bun, and an incredibly whorish amount of makeup. Her tatty red dress clung to her saggy body sickeningly, and feathers adorned her shoulders, serving as a scarf of sorts. She and the Fat Lady gossiped excitedly with each other, the old woman prancing about the portrait merrily as the Fat Lady babbled on about something. Harry was hardly in earshot to hear, but as he crept forward, what she was saying became clearer.

"…Well, he seems a perfectly good boy, but I do wish he would eat more. Sir Malcolm and I were talking just the other day, and it seems that he hasn't been eating at all as it is, and has been throwing up whatever manages its way down his throat. He has seemed a bit sickly lately, but I just thought it was because he didn't get out much this summer."

"Yes, well, I believe he'll try another attempt at his life before the years out. I've been speaking with Mrs. Black, and she says that he locked himself up in a bathroom, he did, and slit his wrists. You would never have thought him to be the type, would you?" the old woman screeched gleefully, seating herself on the ground and plucking some of the beautifully painted flowers.

Just then, the Fat Lady glared and addressed Harry, who had realized a second too late that he was creeping a bit too close to the portrait to be considered passerby. "Weren't you told that it's not appropriate to eavesdrop, young man?"

Harry flushed bright red and averted his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, sticking his hands deeply into his pockets.

The Fat Lady stared at him primly from her position above him. "Yes, very well. Don't do it again, however, or Albus will be hearing from me. Password?"

Harry blushed furiously and mumbled the password quickly. The Fat Lady looked him up and down calculatingly, then creaked open with a nod.

As Harry disappeared into the commons, he could faintly hear the Fat Lady saying, "Yes, he has gotten rather skinny, hasn't he?"

…

…

…

**Thirty Minutes Earlier…**

Lady Elizabeth slowly but stealthily made her way through multiple portraits, hot on the tail of one Boy Who Lived. She had been assigned to look after him ever since he had come back to school this year, and had been rather amazed by some of the things she had witnessed him doing. One would never suspect the portraits of watching him, and after having a long talking to with Mrs. Black, they had devised a plan to keep him under watch at all times of the day.

Some portrait residents even went so far as to take over the muggle portraits of some weird sports team or another hung up all around the Gryffindor boys' dorm room by one of Harry's roommates. It was quite trying to stay still at all hours of day and night, in order not to be noticed. But those that volunteered were great at it, and though sometimes Ron was caught staring suspiciously when they sneezed or itched their noses, no one else noticed at all, and Ron was keen to brush it off, so as not to be thought loony.

It had been a close call when Harry had caught the mermaid from the prefects' bathroom flopping her tail about showily in the boys' bathroom, but she remained there, and Harry just brushed it off as her being reassigned posts. Portraits were known to move about of their own accord, especially at Hogwarts.

The portrait people had adopted Harry as their own son, and were quite protective of him. It saddened them to watch day after day, hour after hour, as he dug himself in deeper. But they had no one to tell, and they didn't know if it would be smart to bring Dumbledore or anyone else into it. Harry seemed keen to handle it himself, but he currently wasn't doing a very good job at it, although the young Malfoy boy had prodded him into stopping before it developed into a habit.

Lady Elizabeth walked through one last portrait before coming to a stop in her own. Her long, white-blonde hair flowed over her pale shoulders and into her face like a waterfall of the sheerest water, and her deep blue eyes glimmered smartly.

Harry passed her portrait a number of times before stopping in front of her, a calculating look on his face. "Hermione says I need help," he muttered to himself, continuing to pace back and forth.

Lady Elizabeth smiled. "Did you ever consider the fact that she may be right?" she asked knowingly.

Harry looked up at her, shocked. "Wh…what?"

"She may be right, Harry," Lady Elizabeth murmured, her eyes gleaming.

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked, staring at her suspiciously.

Lady Elizabeth just smiled mysteriously.

"Who are you?" Harry asked apprehensively after a few minutes of silence. He stopped pacing and stared at her, his eyes hooded.

"My name," Lady Elizabeth said, swooping her arms out in a grand gesture. "Is Lady Elizabeth. My painter was Gregory Spencer, and I was twenty-two years of age at painting. I have been here at Hogwarts since 1412. I first resided in the Great Hall, but things have since changed, and I now reside here, in the Room of Requirement."

Lady Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, her eyes gleaming knowingly, and Harry stared up at her.

"Impossible," Harry muttered, mostly to himself than anyone else. Then, to her, he said, "That's impossible. You cannot reside here, not willingly, at least. The Room of Requirement only houses what I require. Nothing more," Harry shook his head, his eyebrows creased in thought.

"Perhaps, Mister Potter," Lady Elizabeth interrupted his thoughts. "You required me,"

Harry stared at her, one eyebrow inclined. "Impossible," he muttered once again, and stalked out of the room.

Lady Elizabeth watched him go silently, and waited a few moments before following.

…

…

…

Ron greeted Harry warmly. "Hey, Harry. Who do you suppose the new DADA teacher will be, eh?"

Harry blinked at Ron. "Huh?"

Ron smiled brightly and hit Harry in the shoulder softly. "You know, mate. The new Defence teacher. Who do you think it's going to be?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I don't know. I mean there wasn't anyone new at the table, and Dumbledore didn't say anything."

Hermione came up behind him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Well, I guess we'll find out next then, huh?"

Harry stared at her. "Classes are over, 'Mione," he said, brow wrinkled.

Hermione smiled, though it looked a bit forced and pained. "This is a free hour," she said, pity shining in her eyes. "We still have Defence. _Then _classes are over, Harry."

Harry sighed. "Yeah," he said dejectedly. "I guess I just forgot."

Ron slapped him on the back, smirking. "That's all right, mate. You aren't expected to memorize your schedule yet, we've only been back for two days."

Harry smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Feels like a year already, doesn't it? I'm so bloody tired, I can only imagine what it's going to be like when we finally make it to NEWTs."

Ron nodded and slumped into a chair. "You're telling me," he said. "Do you know how bloody difficult it is to turn a pillow into a Puffskein? Seamus nearly blew my head off earlier today, not to mention the fact that we have a two foot long essay on 'proper wand etiquette' due on Thursday because of it!"

Harry eyed Ron with sympathy, tossing himself onto a rather plush couch and refusing to move, even when Hermione prodded him in the side so she could sit next to him.

"I managed to transfigure the pillow without much difficulty," Hermione stated, frustration showing in her eyes as she sat in an empty seat next to Ron with a huff and meaningful look towards Harry.

"Yes," Ron raved. "But that's because you're you! You can't possibly expect me to transfigure anything, especially after such a long break wandless!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow pointedly and Ron sighed. "You know what I mean. What are we ever going to need a Puffskein for, anyway? I mean, we can just go out and buy one! I don't see how transfiguring one is any different."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry managed to do it fine, too."

Harry nodded but didn't say anything, staring into the fireplace thoughtfully.

The fire flickered, and Harry jumped. He could have sworn he had seen Malfoy's head just seconds before.

A second glance confirmed that it was only the fire, and there was no one in it. Harry sighed and rested his head on the armrest. "I'm becoming paranoid," he muttered to himself.

"What was that, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking at Harry expectantly. Harry shook his head and Hermione watched him suspiciously.

"Nothing, 'Mione. I've just been really tired lately. I can't believe how long today has been,"

Hermione smiled. "You just wait until NEWTs. You'll wish you were dead," she said with a slight smirk. "I've heard some very interesting stories about what has happened in the past."

Ron eyed her suspiciously. "You're going to smother us with studying, aren't you?" he asked, his voice holding an especially hopeless note to it.

Hermione just grinned and said nothing, causing Harry and Ron to groan in unison. Ron fell out of his seat and rolled about on the ground, clutching his side in mock pain as he groaned, "No! Anything but that! Save me!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, shove off! It's not going to be that bad."

Harry watched the scene unfold with arms crossed and a light smile adorning his lips. Things were finally going back to normal.

…

…

…

Loud laughter filled the room, along with voices of multiple students, chattering merrily away. Balls and wads of parchment flew merrily across the room at explosive speeds, hitting anyone and everyone in the head with it. There was quite a large amount of students in Defense this year. Harry wondered if it was a good thing.

Out of nowhere, a ball of parchment hit him in the back of his head. Harry looked over his shoulder to see a Hufflepuff, whom he didn't know, waving coyly at him and gesturing at the ball. Harry sighed and threw it back at her.

Apparently, there was only one Defense class this year, and all of the houses had been put together as a result. The teacher must be a very busy person.

All of a sudden, there was a creaking noise at the back of the room, and silence came over the class like a heavy, wet blanket thrown over a flame.

A young looking, pale witch bustled towards the front of the room silently, clutching a briefcase tightly to her chest, her head bowed so that no one could see her facial features. Her robes swished quickly as she made her way up to the front, and stopped immediately as she turned around. Familiar red hair fanned out as she turned, to settle neatly at her shoulders, slick, straight and glistening.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as brown eyes alighted upon him and sparkled knowingly, a slight smirk twisting the perfect lips up towards her narrow, pointed nose. Alicia was peculiarly glasses-less today as Harry looked her up and down, a snarl at the back of his throat that he refused to let out.

"Hello," Alicia greeted softly, eyes sweeping the class as a whispered pandemonium slithered throughout the room. She allowed this for a few minutes before she held up a hand. Silence came immediately.

Harry's eyes blazed as he glared at her, daggers shooting from his eyes before he could hold them back. (Not literal daggers, of course. We wouldn't want poor Alicia to die, would we? _Author snickers_…) Half of the class - well, the half that seemed to pay the most attention to him, at least (the Gryffindors) - noticed this, and immediately were on their guard. An enemy of Harry's, after all, was an enemy of theirs.

"My name," she stated, before the rest of the class could take notice of Harry's discomfort. "Is Alicia. You, however, shall address me as Professor Avery." With that, Alicia began pacing. "I am new, here, as you may have noticed. I was not here for the beginning of the year feast, however, as you may have also noticed. There was an emergency at the Ministry that I had to deal with, but I am here now, to teach you something that we have never worked on here at Hogwarts."

She stopped pacing and stared at Harry meaningfully as the rest of the class bristled at the word "Ministry".

Alicia let the silence drag on as she watched her new pupils shift uncomfortably in their seats. At last, Hermione could take no more, and raised her hand.

Alicia's knowing eyes alighted on Hermione, and she grinned. "Yes, Miss. Granger?"

"What is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"What is it that we're working on, then?"

"Oh, forgive me. I was taking the time to examine my students. And you all," Alicia began pacing once more as her eyes surveyed the students. "Look like a bright bunch. You should be able to master this in no time."

She stopped pacing pointedly once more, this time directly in front of Harry's desk. Leaning down, she stared into his eyes deeply, and frowned before moving on. "Wandless magic."

Once again, whispered pandemonium swept through the room, as Alicia earned many whoops and hollers of appreciation. She grinned.

"However, this is not something that should be taken lightly. We will not be trying it until we know nearly everything there is to know about it. Which is why," the class managed a disappointed groan at this pause, before Alicia glowered at them and continued on. "You are going to be writing a two foot long essay about what wandless magic is, where it originated from, and why it is useful today, due Thursday of next week. Are there any questions?"

When no one was forthcoming with any questions for her, Alicia nodded and smiled once more. "Class dismissed."

**A/N: **I know, I know, you all hate Alicia. I'm sorry! But you will find that she can be very helpful later on, so maybe your opinions on her will change, yeah? Well, maybe not. She is a little stuck up, isn't she? (cringe) Well, just keep rotten vegetable throwing to a minimum. I do have to use these fingers to write up chapters, you know!


	19. Spontaneous Combustion

**A/N: **Many thanks to all the reviewers out there! I would like to dedicate this chapter to my wonderful beta, Steven! Thanks for all your great work!

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Spontaneous Combustion**

Harry had nearly forgotten about the meeting with Draco that night. If he had not fallen asleep once again that night in the commons and woken up at nearly eleven thirty, he would have. As it was, Harry was stuck there; awaiting Draco's return, because he partially feared what Draco would do if he ditched it.

Which was why he was nearly scared out of his pants when Draco popped up in the fireplace twenty minutes early.

Harry stared at him, shocked into stillness. Draco smiled at him and pulled his head out of the fireplace, disappearing. Minutes later, Draco popped into the room, dusting himself off as he seated himself. "Potter," He greeted with an incline of his head.

Harry sat stiffly in his chair. His mouth was dry and his neck was sore from sleeping in an awkward position for two consecutive days.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, cocking his head to the side as he looked over Harry calculatingly.

Harry glared. "Peachy," he retorted through gritted teeth.

Draco shrugged. "Sorry, didn't mean to get your britches in a twist. You just don't look very good. You're pretty pale."

"I'm fine," Harry countered, albeit a bit too quickly.

Draco stared at him knowingly, but didn't say anything. After a long bout of awkward silence, Draco finally tore his gaze away, favoring to, instead, have a look around the room. The distaste was evident on his face. His lip curled slightly, and his brows bunched together in a most attractive manner as he looked the room up and down.

"These colors are ridiculous. Have you no fashion sense, Potter?"

Harry ignored the question. "You came here for a reason, Malfoy," he stated, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and crossing his arms across his chest protectively. "Get on with it."

Draco looked at Harry curiously. "Do you ever shut up?" he asked, shocking Harry for the second time that night.

"What do you mean?" Harry spluttered, springing from the armchair to glare down at Draco. Draco just smirked up at him.

"Well…perhaps that wasn't exactly the right thing to say. What I meant to say was, don't you ever just take comfort in the fact that you have company? You don't always have to go about shooting off your mouth like that, you know. We don't even have to talk at all if you don't want. I believe I'll be just fine in the presence of your company, knowing that you're not off somewhere puking your guts out."

Harry glowered and crossed his arms, but didn't say anything, and after a while, Draco sighed as his facial features softened. "I'm sorry, Potter. Look, I'm just worried about you, all right? Everyone is."

Harry glared at Draco, who was shifting rather uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't need you guys to be worried about me." Harry bit out. Draco sighed.

"Harry, holding in all those emotions can't be good for your health. I mean, you've already been in critical condition almost three times. You can't keep doing this to yourself." Draco had somehow managed to find a place kneeling on the floor between Harry's knees, with his hands on Harry's thighs. "Look at yourself, Potter, and tell me that nothing's changed."

Harry stared down at Draco and sighed. "Shut up, Malfoy. Just shut up!"

Standing, Harry pushed Draco away to sprawl on the floor and look up at Harry, hurt shining clearly in his eyes.

Harry shot Draco one final look, and began pacing. Eventually, he brought his thumb up to his mouth and began gnawing unconsciously on the nail. Draco watched suspiciously, as many emotions flitted across his face.

Suddenly, he turned towards Draco, face stony and cold. "I don't need your pity, and I don't need your help." Harry said, eyes flashing angrily. His cheek twitched slightly as he clenched his teeth in order to keep his emotions in check. "I'm fine."

Draco stood, eyes glistening and brows wrinkled in thought. "Harry, this isn't you. You wouldn't-"

Harry's nostrils flared and his eyebrow twitched, eyes blazing. "Who are you to say who I am? You know absolutely nothing about me! Nothing!"

"Potter-"

"Don't. Okay? I don't need it."

"Well, apparently you need something." Draco cried out with a glare.

Harry's eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, as silence stretched.

Draco sighed. "Potter, I'm leaving. I know you know that you need help, but apparently, I'm not the one who can give it to you."

With that, Draco spun on his heel and made his way towards the fireplace. A reluctant look was shot towards Harry before his facial features went slack, and he threw the floo powder into the fireplace. A shout of his destination, which could hardly be heard over the roar of the freshly renewed fire, was the last thing Harry heard of him before he disappeared from sight.

Harry stared after Draco wistfully for a long time after he had gone.

…

…

…

Harry was late waking up that morning, and therefore, was nearly late for Potions.

When he got down for breakfast, the Gryffindor table was nearly empty. A scant few first years sat at one end, with most of the food piled onto their plates. Boys were wolfing down pancakes and bacon, while girls looked on in disgust. When Harry plopped himself down next to one of the first year boys, all movement stopped, and they all stared at him as if he were an exhibit on display.

Harry sighed and snatched a piece of toast from one of the boys while they were gaping. He nibbled on it for a few seconds, the crunching sound comforting in the silence as the first years looked on.

After a while, Harry sighed. "What the bloody hell do you _want_?" he growled out.

Girls shrieked giddily, and boys grinned from ear to ear, high-fiving each other over the table. Harry just sighed again, excusing himself quietly.

He snatched his book bag from the seat next to him, and quickly rushed to class. He barely got there in time, and Hermione was staring at him curiously as he took his seat next to her.

Madam Pomfrey entered the room behind Harry, and with a silent glare towards him, she began class.

Midway through, when the room was smelling something rancid and there was smoke galore floating about (which, according to the textbook, was the correct way to make the particular potion), Hermione prodded him in the side, nearly causing him to drop his handful of dried, crushed Wullyweed root. "Where were you this morning, Harry?" she hissed as she stirred their smoking potion.

Harry exhaled loudly, and finished sprinkling the root over their potion. "I slept late." He said after a long pause. He offered no other explanation, and just as he thought Hermione might accept the negligible offering, she asked another question.

"Why?"

"I was tired,"

"Harry…" Hermione looked at him scoldingly. "I thought you were going to go to bed earlier last night. Haven't you been complaining about being tired a lot lately? I mean, come on! Honestly, if you're tired you should sleep! We haven't even been here a whole week yet!"

Harry sighed. "I guess you're right. I just…sometimes it's hard to sleep."

Hermione studied Harry for a long time. "Maybe you need to see Madam Pomfrey about this, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened. "No! I'm fine! Honestly."

Hermione eyed Harry suspiciously. With a half-hearted smile, she nodded. "Okay, Harry." Something in her eyes told Harry that she didn't believe him.

…

…

…

Harry sighed and slouched in the chair he was seated in. "I shouldn't be here. I really shouldn't be here," he groaned.

"Why ever not?"

Harry sighed and looked up at the beautiful Lady Elizabeth, who seemed to be towering over him from her position, hanging above the mantle of the fireplace.

"Er…I have an essay due in Defence class soon. I should really be getting it done. Free hours probably weren't assigned so that we could goof off."

Lady Elizabeth smiled. "You can do it in here," she said, gesturing towards the table that was materializing itself in front of Harry as they spoke.

Harry stared down at the table, a disheartened frown on his lips. He had come here to talk to Lady Elizabeth, because quite honestly, there was no one else that he _could _talk to. However, that was much easier said than done.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Lady Elizabeth asked, concern worrying her features.

"No!" Harry exclaimed.

Lady Elizabeth looked at him grimly, eyebrows wrinkled in worry.

"Harry…" she trailed off, and Harry stared at her guardedly, expecting her to say exactly the same things as everyone else would say, had they known.

"What?" he snapped, clenching his fists, ready to spring from his seat if necessary.

"You can tell me," she said, eyes softening. Harry blinked suspiciously.

"Huh?"

"I know something's bothering you, and I want you to know that you can tell me. You can trust me, Harry. I promise."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You're just saying that."

"On my portrait's honor, I promise you, Harry, that you can trust me." Lady Elizabeth said, wringing her hands, eyes pleading with him. "I would spontaneously combust before I told a soul what you've confided in me."

Harry tilted his head and examined her. She may have been just a portrait, but for now, just a portrait may just help him out of the internal struggle he was currently having.

Long minutes later, Harry had come up with the conclusion that he could trust her. "Okay," he agreed. "But you have to keep your promise, and I have to know that you're keeping your promise. Will you allow me to put a spell on you?" he asked, eyes shining meaningfully.

Lady Elizabeth smiled. "Of course,"

Harry nodded, eyebrows scrunched together as he wracked his brains for a spell that would cause her to spontaneously combust if she told anyone his secrets.

Slowly, a book materialized in front of Harry. It looked as though it had seen better days. The corners were worn thin, and the pages were thick and yellowed, and they crackled when Harry opened the thick cover, in awe.

The silver scripted wording was nearly worn off, and Harry had to squint to see what the title was. _'Implosively Explosive'_

Harry smirked, and opened the book.

_**Table of Contents**_

The words flew across the page as if some ancient spell had been activated. Though the wording didn't look fresh, it gave Harry the nostalgic feeling that they were, similar to the time in second year when Ginny had been lured into the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry glanced up at Lady Elizabeth, then smiled slightly, and looked back down. If the book had materialized because he had required it, then it couldn't be too bad, Harry finally decided.

_Inanimate Objects…………………pg. 1-103_

Harry blinked. He hadn't even gotten past the fifth word, and already he was confused. One more glance towards Lady Elizabeth, and he sighed. "Are you inanimate?" he asked finally.

Lady Elizabeth looked taken back. "Heavens, no!" she exclaimed indignantly.

Harry grinned and skimmed down further.

_Human Beings…………………… pg. 104-256_

Harry grimaced, imagining a person catching fire spontaneously. He pulled a face at the concept, and quickly moved on.

_Animals…………………………… _

_Magical Beings ……… pg. 257-308_

_Non-Magical Beings… pg. 308-310_

_Plants……………………………… pg. 311-452_

_Portraits…………………………… pg. 452-607_

Harry grinned triumphantly when he found that portraits had their very own chapter. His face fell seconds later when he realized that he would have to do more than 155 pages worth of reading to find out exactly what he wanted to know.

With a groan, Harry clomped his head on the table.

Lady Elizabeth stared down at him curiously. "Problem, dear?"


	20. Hermione the Spy

**A/N: **You may see my trying to wheedle a bit of problem number two in here, as the chapter continues. Harry, of course, probably won't outright cut himself, at least for another few chapters, so you can all relax for now.

**Review Response**

**Draco8448: **Ah! (Author begins to hyperventilate) You want Lady Elizabeth to blow up? I thought she was a _good _character! Lol, sorry that it's taking so long to get to the good stuff, but it's coming, I promise!

**Chapter Twenty**

**Hermione the Spy**

Hermione stared at Harry curiously from across the room. He didn't know, but lately, Hermione had been keeping a close eye on him. He'd been acting rather suspicious lately, sneaking off at every free moment he could manage, and being tired during the day. She could often find him reading odd books about spontaneous combustion spells, which was rather curious.

With a glance around him, Harry grinned and closed the old-looking book he had been reading. Stuffing it into his knapsack, he shouldered the bag and left the room.

Hermione's eyes trailed after him, and when she was sure he was gone, she stood up, a look of conviction set on her face. If he wasn't going to tell her what was going on, she was going to find out for herself.

Draco had assured her that Harry had stopped his self-destructive behavior, but Hermione had to see for herself before she would believe it. With a frown and a look around her to make sure no one was watching, Hermione made her way up the staircase to the boys' dormitory.

Another glance around, and she began digging around in Harry's trunk. It wasn't long before she found what she was looking for, and after a whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," and a tap of her wand, she found Harry's dot wandering the corridors just outside of the Gryffindor common room.

Standing quickly, Hermione left the boys' dormitories before any of the boys came up and found her snooping through Harry's stuff. She didn't bother to right the harm she had done - the room was such a mess already, she doubted that anyone would notice the small amount of damage she had caused.

Everyone in the commons stared in surprise as Hermione rushed through the room, leaving her homework neatly laid out on the abandoned table as she hurried out the portrait hole.

Ginny Weasley entered the room at the precise moment Hermione rushed out, and the two nearly collided. "What's up, Hermione?" Ginny asked, surprised at the determined look in her eyes.

"No time, Ginny. We'll talk later, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Hermione rushed off, Ginny watching after her curiously.

Hermione followed Harry slowly, making sure to stay at least a corridor away from him, in case he decided to look back and see if he was being followed. She watched as his back disappeared around a corner, his robes sweeping out of sight quickly behind him. Deciding to stay where she was for at least a bit longer, to give him time to walk further away, Hermione watched his figure pace on the map. Seconds later, he made a sharp right, and disappeared from the map completely.

Hermione sighed. The Room of Requirement. This was going to be harder than she had thought. One could only imagine the horrors shooting through her mind at top speed as she thought of what Harry could possibly be doing in there.

…

…

…

"I've found it," Harry exclaimed proudly as he plopped himself into a seat directly in front of the fireplace. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the book, and held it up triumphantly.

Lady Elizabeth raised her eyebrows curiously, shielding a yawn from with her hand. "Found what?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. Harry had been rather active for the past two weeks, researching combustion charms with furry, and her ferocious following of him was becoming rather tiring.

"The spell!" he cried out, looking at her with eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Oh," she murmured, eyebrows furrowed. Harry's face seemed to fall, and Lady Elizabeth grinned, albeit a bit forcedly. "Of course! The spell! Well, go on!"

Harry grinned once more, and heaved the book onto a coffee table that had materialized in front of him.

"Well, according to this entire chapter, it is rather difficult to cause portraits to spontaneously combust, and considering how long you've been around, it may be a bit more difficult than most. You see, the longer a portrait's been around, the more say it has when it comes to things like this. I mean, as you mature, you get to know more things, and it could be said that it's nearly like you're really alive."

Lady Elizabeth smiled softly at the flush that was finding its way to his face. "What a wonderful way to become immortalized." she murmured.

Harry smiled at the slight crack, then ran his index finger down the page, searching for the spell.

"Yes, right. Well, I've got to perform this spell…er…_Copius Morticus_, I think…Anyway, at the end of the incantation, you've got to give a spoken agreement, otherwise it won't work.

"The great thing about this spell is that you won't just burst into flame at any old time. Some special term will be stamped across your forehead, and the next time I see you, I'll know you told. Then, I'll get the option to set you aflame, or just leave you the way you are." Harry grinned jestingly at Lady Elizabeth, and she blinked in surprise. Harry was feeling rather playful tonight, that was for certain.

"Oh?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

Harry grinned smugly to himself.

"What's the spoken agreement, then?" Lady Elizabeth asked, standing and shaking her limbs to wake herself up.

Harry smiled and looked down at the book once more. Reading directly from the pages, he said, "I, (Your Name Here), solemnly agree that this curse has been brought upon me by my own will. I will keep any and all promises pledged to (My Name Here), as follows: (Promises Here)."

Harry shut the book and grinned up expectantly at Lady Elizabeth. "It has to be your full name, as does mine," he said, eyebrows wriggling playfully.

Lady Elizabeth laughed a beautifully high-pitched, fluttery laugh.

"It's cheesy, I know, but you've got to say it," Harry's face fell for a moment. "You are going to say it, aren't you?"

Lady Elizabeth looked him over, worry creeping into her chest, causing her non-existent heart to contract. "Of course I am, Harry. Why wouldn't I?"

Relief flooded Harry's features, and he sighed softly, closing his eyes.

"I don't know. I was just so worried that you wouldn't."

Lady Elizabeth smiled grimly. "Well, go on, then," she said with a forced smile.

Harry lifted his wand, pointed it at Lady Elizabeth, and muttered the enchantment.

A soft, buttery yellow light flooded the room, and both of their attentions were sucked into what was currently going on. Neither noticed the door slowly creaking open, or the girl who rushed into the room, fearing the worst at the light.

"Hurry, say it!" Harry said in a near whisper, in complete awe at what was occurring.

Lady Elizabeth grinned and took a deep breath. "I, Lady Elizabeth Ellen Malfoy, do solemnly agree that this curse has been brought upon me by my own will.

Harry stared, wide-eyed, at Lady Elizabeth. "You never told-"

Lady Elizabeth quickly interrupted, before the spell could be ruined. "I will keep any and all promises pledged to Harry James Potter, as follows: I will never tell a soul, living or dead, anything that he confides in me."

The bright, supple light took on a soft golden hue that flashed everywhere, nearly blinding Harry, before it dwindled into a single pinprick of light, and separated into two points, one making its way toward Harry, and the other toward Lady Elizabeth's portrait.

The point directed towards Harry slammed directly into his chest, causing shivers to make their way down his back.

It seemed that the pinprick of light that had been directed towards Lady Elizabeth had a similar effect. Lady Elizabeth shuddered, and her portrait glowed with a faint yellow light for a few minutes before it faded away.

Hermione stared in surprise as the light faded away. "Harry, what have you done?" she whispered to herself. She had only heard a bit of the conversation, but it had been enough to know that it couldn't be good.

A quick glance around the room told Hermione that there was a fire blazing in the grate of the fireplace, and that maybe, just _maybe_, she wouldn't be seen if she stopped in for a quick peek.

Casting a quick silencing spell so that Harry wouldn't hear the door creak shut, Hermione left the room hastily and set off towards Gryffindor Tower. She rushed into the commons, startling everyone within for the second time that day, when she snapped, "I'm visiting my parents. No disruptions!" and immediately tossed herself to her knees and threw some floo powder into the fireplace.

First years hurriedly gathered their things and took off at a sprint towards their dorms, second years cowered in dark corners, and third and fourth years looked on curiously as Hermione stuck her head within the flames and whispered her destination. Someone had pissed Hermione Granger right off, and this surely would not bode well for any of them if they were caught in the crossfire.

Head flooing was sort of like an out of body experience for Hermione. Her head twisted around and around, though her knees stayed grounded and the rest of her body stable. When her head finally came to rest within the roaring flames of the fire in the Room of Requirement, Harry was sitting in the chair across from the fire.

Hermione's eyes widened when she realized that her plan probably hadn't been the best that she had ever come up with, mostly because it hadn't been properly thought through, in all aspects, and she pulled her wand from the pocket of her robes to tap herself on the head and wordlessly cast a disillusionment charm.

Harry didn't notice, as he was currently pouting, with his arms crossed and a sullen look towards the portrait he had been talking to earlier.

"You never told me you were a Malfoy," he muttered. Hermione blinked in surprise.

"You never asked," Lady Elizabeth stated, amusement evident in her voice.

"I never thought I had reason to," Harry muttered, and continued to pout.

"Well, what reason would you have had?" Lady Elizabeth.

"To start with, Malfoy…er, Draco and I have been almost mortal enemies since…well, forever!"

Lady Elizabeth laughed. "Ah, Harry, suffice it to say that not all Malfoys are the same. I, for one, always supported the light side, whereas my parents and my sisters followed that of the dark side. My dear brother, Adrian, also followed the side of the light. That is why _we _lived for so long. It would be sufficient to say that, because of the rest of my family's stupidity, they died a very…gruesome death." Lady Elizabeth grimaced, and Harry sighed.

"That's not the point. I would have liked to have known, is all." He mumbled stubbornly, though his cheeks flushed a very becoming pink afterwards.

Lady Elizabeth sighed, and sat on a nearly invisible stool that was nearly hidden by the confines of her extravagant dress. "Would you have trusted me, Harry?" she asked, a sad look crossing her features as Harry slowly shook his head.

"I know that it's different now that you know that I'm a Malfoy, but you can still trust me. I just took an oath of silence that would _not _be worth breaking!" Harry grinned a bit at that, and Lady Elizabeth continued, heartened by his arms lowering from their protective position across his chest, and his lower lip sucking itself in.

"I assure you, I have my best interests - and yours - in mind when I ask you to tell me, Harry, what's been bothering you."

"I don't need any advice," Harry said quickly, before Lady Elizabeth could continue. "I just want someone I can confide in, you know? It gets hard, having to lug these feelings around with me all the time. I can hardly save myself, let alone the whole Wizarding world, and I don't know if I want to try anymore."

Harry lowered his eyes from those of Lady Elizabeth's, her gaze becoming too much to bear. He felt ashamed that he felt that way, but he couldn't control it, not really.

Lifting his already ragged thumbnail to his lips, he began to gnaw on the short stub.

Lady Elizabeth sized him up for a good, long time, and Harry began to feel a bit self conscious and nervous under her great scrutiny.

"Harry," she began after a long, awkward silence. "Life is precious. You can't give up just because it becomes too hard. I know of the burdening weight that has been put upon your shoulders and yours alone, but you must know that you are not the only one who's scared."

Harry interrupted her, his voice muffled around his thumb, which he was vigorously gnawing on, in an attempt to concentrate. "No, of course I'm not! But I'm basically a human sacrifice! They all know that I can't save them! I'm a nervous wreck, and they've made me this way! I can't do it alone, not anymore!"

Hermione stared in shocked awe as Harry stood and tore the thumb away from his lips, leaving a slight trail of blood in its wake.

Lady Elizabeth frowned grimly. "Then don't, Harry." she interrupted. "How can you not see how they are trying to help you? They're nearly desperate with worry - don't you see it? Look into their eyes, it's there! They want to help you, but you push them away. How can you expect them to break down your walls if you just build them up again?"

Harry sighed, and, defeated, sat back down, immediately going back to chewing on his thumbnail, which was quickly becoming nearly non-existent and bloodied.

Hermione took one last look at what was going on, and pulled her head from the fire. Harry needed help. She was sure of it now. And a portrait couldn't do nearly as much as an adult experienced in that kind of work could.

Her features took on a grim, set look as she stood and brushed herself off. Glancing around the room, she sent glares at everyone who even so much as dared to look at her.

Sitting down at the table in front of her long forgotten homework, Hermione began to plot.


	21. Purging

**A/N: **Although this fic is longer than FAAR, it's also about 1552 words shorter. I'm hoping to rectify that in this chapter. (Author crosses fingers)

Keep the reviews coming, though! I love your opinions, and they really help me figure out how the following chapters should turn out!

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Purging**

Later that night, when Hermione was sure everyone was asleep, she snuck down to the Gryffindor common room and began a fire. Tossing some floo powder into the roaring fireplace, she stepped in and whispered her destination. Covering her face with her arm, Hermione shielded herself from smoke that curled its way up her nostrils, nearly causing her to choke as she began to spin around, green flames shooting everywhere and sparks flying.

When she finally stopped spinning, she opened her eyes and lowered her arm. A very surprised Draco Malfoy, sandwich poised halfway to his mouth, gaped at her as she stepped out of the fireplace and brushed soot from her clothes.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Granger?" Draco asked, standing. The sandwich fell to the dirty-looking table, forgotten.

"We've got to talk," Hermione said, her eyes glistening desperately.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed as he gave Hermione a long look.

"About what, pray tell?"

Hermione smiled wanly and tossed herself into a chair.

"Sit down," she said, gesturing towards Draco's newly vacated seat.

Draco leered. "As if you can tell me what to do in my own home," he grumbled to himself with a glare, although he took her up on her offer.

With a flick of his wand, a tea pot and cup with saucer appeared in front of Hermione, the teapot pouring itself, and sugar spooning itself into the porcelain cup and tinkling as it stirred. Hermione watched this half-interestedly, then looked up at Draco, taking up the tea and sipping it gingerly.

"Well?" Draco asked lingeringly, and Hermione sighed.

"Who is Lady Elizabeth, Draco?" she asked. Draco looked at her in shock.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked suspiciously.

Hermione's face twisted into a pained look, eyes glistening with oncoming tears. "Just tell me," she ground out, though it sounded more like a pained cry.

"Okay…" Draco trailed off in thought. Wracking his brain, he tried to remember any mention of her from his mother or father. "Well, father never seemed to keen to talk about her. He says she was a blood traitor. She lived quite a while ago. I only found out about her in the Malfoy's history books, because everyone in my family is rather tight-lipped, especially where blood traitors are concerned. My father may be on the side of the light, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't understand the Dark Lord's cause…"

Hermione watched Draco intently, sipping on her tea as she lapped up the information he was providing for her eagerly.

"And?" she prodded, waiting for Draco to continue.

"Well, she's been taken off the Malfoy tapestry, much like Sirius was taken off of the Black tapestry. That was long, long ago, though. I doubt many people remember it. The tapestry isn't really where others can lay their eyes upon it. She had a portrait painted, I believe. She was a great teacher at Hogwarts at one time, after all. Head of Ravenclaw house, I believe. It has since disappeared, it seems," Draco said, his left index finger rubbing his bottom lip thoughtfully.

Hermione smiled. "Not quite."

Draco looked up, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Hermione debated with herself about whether to tell Draco the whole story. Eventually, she decided that she could. It wasn't as if Draco had anyone he could tell.

"Harry has been sneaking off rather frequently lately. I got curious. I wanted to know if he was safe, we couldn't have him off somewhere dying on us, surely. So I followed him one day with Marauder's Map." Draco's eyebrows shot up to his hairline at that.

"Marauder's Map?" he asked, instantly curious.

Hermione smiled grimly and pulled multiple, old looking pieces of parchment out of the folds of her robes. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she said, tapping the parchment with her wand.

Draco was surprised to see words scripting themselves over the parchment. Hermione didn't seem nearly as amazed, and quickly flipped it open, scanning the parchment quickly for something.

"He's there right now," she stated, handing Draco the map. "See how you can see everyone's dots? They're labeled with names," she pointed out unnecessarily.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed. "There's no 'Harry' dot," he said after scanning the map curiously.

"Precisely. He's in the Room of Requirements, which just so happens to not show up on this map."

Draco's eyes rose to meet Hermione's over the grungy table and disposed of sandwich. "So that means…" he trailed off, but Hermione was nodding in agreement, and Draco sighed.

"Have you seen…?"

Hermione's lips tugged up slightly. "He made her take an oath," she said, whispering, though she didn't quite know why. It just felt…right to whisper. "She can't say anything about what he says to her to a soul, 'living or dead'," Hermione recited, and Draco sank down in his seat, head pounding onto the table with an echoing thunk.

Hermione's lips pulled into a wide grin as she looked at Draco. "But," she began, and Draco's head popped up to watch her with wide grey eyes. "That doesn't mean she can't tell other portraits."

Draco sat up straight, lips quirked and eyes twinkling. "Brilliant!" he cried, leaning over the table to hug Hermione tightly.

Hermione, crushed and quickly losing her breath, patted Draco's back awkwardly.

A throat cleared in the doorway, causing Hermione and Draco to jump apart.

"No Weasley accompanying you tonight, Miss Granger?" said Severus Snape's oily, smirking voice. "Nor the Potter boy? How very odd. Sneaking off school grounds in the middle of the night, alone? One can only imagine…" Snape trailed off, slinking towards the cupboards and pulling out something. His body blocked whatever it was from Hermione's sight, and Hermione strained her neck to see what it was, to no avail.

Draco and Hermione's eyes met while Snape's back was turned to them, and Hermione sighed, quickly tapping the map with her wand and muttering under her breath, "Mischief managed,". Then, she yanked the map away from a disappointed-looking Draco, and stuffed deep within the folds of her robes.

"Well," Hermione stated after a long, awkward silence, in which Draco had spotted the now filthy-looking sandwich, and magicked it away in disgust. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got somewhere I've got to be,"

Draco smirked at her, and Snape turned around and looked at her in surprise. Hermione smiled. "Can I apparate from here?" she asked.

Snape's mouth dropped open, and he shook his head, turning back towards whatever he had been doing.

Hermione could hear him muttering something along the lines of, "Infernally maddening Gryffindors, I'll loose my mind before the year is out…" as he worked, and her grin grew.

Draco chuckled softly, and led Hermione towards the door. "No, there are wards. You'll have to apparate from the walk. Try not to make a racket,"

Hermione nodded, and began to walk away.

"Oh, wait!" Draco stopped her, and she swept around quickly. "Here, I nearly forgot. Flooing would be much easier, you know," he stated as he drew his wand. "But you don't want to be seen. Here," with a wave of his wand and a tap on her head, Hermione felt a sharp chill run down her spine.

"When you get to your dormitory, a simple '_Finite Incantatem_' should suffice to take it down. Owl me about Harry's progress, okay?"

Hermione smiled, her eyes softening, and she nodded. Draco turned and was nearly back into the house before Hermione stopped him with a hand on his arm. Draco turned back, and Hermione grinned at him. "Thank you, Draco. For everything,"

And she threw herself at him.

Her hug was crushing, and Draco could have sworn he was dying, because this couldn't be real, surely Hermione Granger was not squeezing the life out of him, and surely this couldn't be the way he was going to die, not after all he'd done. Surely?

It was over quickly, Hermione pulling away and flushing slightly. Holding her own wand up in a sort of salute, she smiled warmly at Draco. "He's doing fine right now, Draco. Try not to worry, yeah?"

Draco nodded, jaw slack and eyes wide, as Hermione departed.

…

…

…

When Hermione finally arrived back in the Gryffindor common room, it was nearly one o'clock in the morning, and Harry had yet to return to the tower. Now that he had someone to confide in, Hermione doubted that Harry would be worse off than he had been. As a matter of fact, she was hoping that he would be better than ever, soon. But, there was one tiny problem. If Harry were going to be back to normal, he would need sleep. And wandering off at all hours of the night to see some portrait was not allowing him the rest that he needed…and NEWTs were coming up quickly! They had already been in school for nearly two months!

Hermione didn't get much sleep that night as she tossed and turned in her bed, worried sick about Harry.

…

…

…

Harry was uncharacteristically talkative that morning. He talked especially about NEWTs, and how he just _knew_, without a doubt, that he was going to get an 'N' in Defence. "Wandless magic," he announced, mouth stuffed chop full with everything and anything he could find within reach. "Is a snap. I can do it in my sleep,"

Seamus and Neville shared a look that said otherwise, but they didn't dare say anything that might make Harry's good mood go away.

Hermione forced a confused smile, and was silent throughout breakfast. On their way to potions, Harry nudged her in the side. "What's got your knickers in a twist?" he asked with a grin, taking a bite out of an apple he'd taken with him.

Hermione smiled. "Oh, nothing. I'm just tired."

Harry blinked, chewing thoughtfully on the apple. "Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey," he suggested.

Hermione frowned. "No, I'm all right. I just stayed up a bit late, studying."

Harry scoffed. "For what?" he exclaimed, sounding horror struck. He, apparently, didn't understand the importance of studying. …Either that, or he had had enough studying to last him a lifetime. "NEWTs aren't for a while, yet, and we don't have any exams in any other classes…do we?" A tone of anxiety found its way into Harry's voice, and he looked at Hermione, worried and wide-eyed.

Hermione frowned slightly. "Well, I've got an exam in Arithmancy in a couple of days." she said thoughtfully.

Harry munched on his apple in silence for a while as they waited outside of the classroom for Madam Pomfrey, who was running rather late today. She was probably tied up in the Hospital Wing.

"You should relax, 'Mione," he said after a while, mouth full. "You'll never last until NEWTs if you don't, you know."

Hermione sighed, but didn't say anything.

Silence reigned once more, and Neville met up with them, grin firmly in place. "'Lo, Harry, 'Mione." he greeted, still grinning from ear to ear.

"What're you so happy about, Neville?" Harry asked.

Neville flushed, and rubbed the back of his neck, quickly thinking up an excuse. "Well, we haven't got Snape anymore, right? Isn't that enough to be happy about?" He asked, hoping it had been a good enough cover.

Harry nodded, twisting the apple core in his hands and watching the juices run down to drip on the floor. "I guess…I mean, definitely! Did you see how well my potion was last time? I fouled up so badly in fifth year, it hurts to remember…"

Neville smiled and nodded eagerly in agreement.

Just then, a throat cleared behind them, and they turned around to find Madam Pomfrey standing in front of them, hands on hips. "What are you loitering about for?" she demanded, eyes narrowed.

Harry and Neville flushed, and Hermione rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry, Professor." she said, sheepishly turning around and going into the classroom.

Neville and Harry shared a look, and Madam Pomfrey glared at them, tapping her toe on the ground expectantly. "Well?" she demanded. "Get in the classroom, or I shall mark you absent."

Harry and Neville flushed once more, and they shuffled in. The door slammed behind them, and Madam Pomfrey stalked up to the front of the room, an exasperated look on her face.

…

…

…

Draco Malfoy found it very interesting to watch Dumbledore and Severus fighting. They fought over everything now, and Draco suspected it was because they were in such cramped quarters. He was tired of Molly Weasley's food, tired of cleaning up the house and attempting to refurbish it. Draco was just plain tired.

Suspiciously enough, neither he nor Severus had been called to a Death Eater conference since that last time when Harry had been in St. Mungo's. Although it was heartening to know that Voldemort probably didn't suspect a thing, and that he trusted them enough to leave them alone for such a long amount of time, Draco felt that if something didn't happen soon, he was going to burst.

Something along the lines of what had happened the evening before, preferably. Now, _that _had been unexpected and exhilarating.

Draco smiled at the knowledge that Harry was okay, and seemed to be better off than he had been the last time Draco had gone to Hogwarts. But it upset him slightly to know that Harry didn't need him nearly as much as Draco wanted…or maybe even _needed_…him to need him.

Draco desperately needed to feel needed…

Severus interrupted Draco's musings by storming past him, muttering under his breath about "batty ex-headmasters".

Draco smiled softly to himself, then turned his gaze towards the 'batty ex-headmaster' in question. Currently, he was staring after Severus, a confused look plastered on his face, and an odd, long, flesh-colored piece of string-looking…thing…dangling from his aged hand.

"It's not a bad idea, Severus," Dumbledore called after him, looking down at the flesh-colored object and back up again. "If you could only pull it off-"

"It would get us killed, you coot!" It seemed that Severus had finally reached his breaking point.

Draco gazed on, wide-eyed in interest, as the two duked it out.

"If we only cast an invisibility charm on it, or perhaps-"

"No! I am not taking one of those Weasley twins' odd contraptions for gaggery and pranks along with me to a _Death Eater _meeting! This is a serious matter, Albus!"

"I know that, Severus. If you took this with you, I could listen as well! Don't you see the brilliance of the plan?"

Severus gave Dumbledore a seething glare. "No!" he proclaimed, and stomped out of the room, rather resembling a young child who wouldn't know discipline if it came up and bit him on the arse. Draco smirked at that thought, and turned back towards Dumbledore.

He really didn't feel as though he should have a say in the matter, but just then, Dumbledore glanced over at him.

"You wouldn't oppose if these, say…_accidentally_…" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brighter than normal, and Draco shuddered. "Found their way along with the two of you next time, would you?"

"Erm, well you see, I'm not sure if I should be involved in this, Profess-er, Dumbledore, sir," Draco stuttered out, flushing a slight pink tinge as Dumbledore stared at him, crystal clear blue eyes glistening in mirth and lips curled up slightly, lifting his whole face.

Running a hand absently through his beard, Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he said thoughtfully. "Very well, then. You shan't be involved."

Draco could swear he saw Dumbledore grin widely as he turned around and left the room, leaving Draco alone once again to his pondering.

…

…

…

Back in Gryffindor tower (in the boys' private bath, connected to their dorms, to be exact), Harry was once more purging himself of a rather quickly consumed meal. His stomach muscles contracted painfully as he finished. It felt rather odd to be full to the brink one second, and completely empty the next.

Harry would never admit it to anyone else, but he rather liked the feeling. It felt that, somehow, he was in control, something that he had never been, even once in his life. Harry swiped roughly at his mouth with the back of his arm, and stood quickly, flushing the toilet.

A quick flick of his wand had his mouth cleansed properly, and a second flick had his flushed cheeks taking on a normal looking tint rather quickly. Harry smiled winningly at his reflection, and the mirror "tisked" in return, but remained silent.

The smile faded from his face at the disapproving sound from the mirror, and he sent a glare its way, before quickly retreating from the room.

Ron was in the commons, setting up for a game of chess, and Harry decided that he looked rather lonely. If Harry really thought about it, he hadn't been spending much time with his friends after he had found Lady Elizabeth.

Sitting down in front of the chessboard, he grinned widely at Ron, who looked at him curiously, but smiled nonetheless. Three games commenced, all of which Ron won spectacularly, but Harry really hadn't expected anything less, of course. When it was finally time to go to class, both left with smiles on their faces.

…

…

…

Hermione continued to keep a close eye on Harry for the remainder of the week. He seemed less tired by the end of it, and his grades seemed to be improving (Hermione only knew that small fact because at least two of Harry's teachers had personally pulled him aside and commented on it). Harry finally seemed to be going back to normal.

Until one day, he collapsed.

…

…

…

_D,_

_Harry has been sent immediately to the infirmary. No one knows what's wrong with him, and if they do, they don't seem keen to be sharing any answers with me. He collapsed tonight at dinner. He seemed fine, from what I could tell. He was stuffing his face, just like normal, with maybe even more vigor than Ronald ever has. I think he's finally gotten his appetite back. _

_I've asked Madam Pomfrey what's wrong with him, but she just bustles me out of the room and says I'll find out soon enough. I don't know if soon enough would be nearly soon enough. _

_I've tried to pry it out of Lady Elizabeth, but she can't say for sure. She has suspicions, but she can't relate them to me - they may cause her to spontaneously combust. That's all she'll say. _

_We need to bring our plan into action, and fast. Harry's life just may be on the line, and he's shut out everyone except for her. _

_Owl me back quickly, so that we can arrange to meet up and commence with our plan. _

_Hermione_

Draco stared at the letter, dumbfounded. Harry had collapsed? How? Why? Questions flew desperately through his head, but remained answerless. Yes, he and Hermione would indeed have to commence with their plan if they wanted to find out what was wrong with Harry…

…

…

…

Harry had been in the Infirmary for at least a week now. Lady Elizabeth visited him regularly (in the evening hours, of course, when no one else's company was allowed), and it seemed to Harry that she was the only one who didn't demean him.

She nodded understandingly as he poured his heart out to her, and she offered advice in return, but she never pushed, and if Harry objected or opposed to her opinion, she discussed the reasons why, instead of turning him towards what she thought was the right direction.

During the days, when Lady Elizabeth had other errands to run, Harry was basically left alone. His friends had learned long ago that he wouldn't speak to them, and they had given up on trying. Now, the only people that remained worried about him seemed to be Hermione, Ron, and Alicia.

Alicia visited him at random intervals, at least three times a day. She told him it was because she didn't want him to get rusty with his wandless magic - "You've already gotten so far!" she'd declared, eyes wide.

Yes, he'd gotten _quite _far. Harry thought bitterly about the time he had barely been able to turn a quill into a pillow, even with every strain and effort. He just got the feeling that wandless wouldn't be nearly as easy as he had imagined it would be, and he desperately wanted to stop trying it.

It gave him a headache every time he lifted his hand to 'Accio' anything towards himself, and his stomach roiled, whenever he tried to conjure anything.

Harry had his suspicions about Alicia. He knew she was up to something, putting him up to all those magical tests. He just couldn't figure out what.

"Come on, Harry!" she'd exclaimed one day. "The rest of the class is already _far _beyond this! You're going to fall behind if you don't get this down pat within the next few days."

Harry, frankly, couldn't find the strength to care. And Madam Pomfrey seemed to oppose the attempt at weak magic on Harry's part. He needed to heal and regain his powers, not be drained of them, after all.

On his second day of his second week in the hospital wing, Harry was released. His stay had been rather...uneventful... Harry sighed in relief as he quickly walked towards the Room of Requirements, and dashed inside. "Lady Elizabeth!" he cried out.

But Lady Elizabeth was gone.

And in her place, Draco Malfoy sat in Harry's armchair, glaring at Harry openly.

"Feeling better, Potter?"


	22. The Commencing of the Plan

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**The Commencing of the Plan**

Harry was shaking. Lifting a hand to the doorjamb, he steadied himself. "Er, yes, much better, thanks," he said, avoiding eye contact.

"Why, exactly," Draco snarled out, causing Harry to jump, startled. "Were you in the infirmary to begin with, Potter?"

"I, erm…passed out…"

"Why do you think you passed out, then?" Draco asked, standing and crossing his arms.

Harry's brows wrinkled in thought as he tried to think of an excuse around it.

"I was…tired?"

Draco sighed. "Harry…"

"You think I haven't heard this before, Draco?" Harry burst out, surprising Draco. "From Hermione and Ron and Alicia, and everyone else? Why do you think that _you_, of all people, can change _anything_?"

Draco stared at Harry in silence for a few moments. Then, his arms fell to his sides in defeat. "Maybe…maybe I can't…," he said, voice hollow. He looked broken, somehow, and Harry nearly laughed at the irony of it all. "But…I want to. I want to help you."

"Where's Lady Elizabeth?" Harry asked, suddenly, causing Draco to jump after the long silence had been breached.

"Oh, yeah, her…um, she went to speak with the Bloody Baron about something or another, I think. Why?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry suspiciously, and Harry sighed, shutting the door to the room quickly behind him when he realized that he had forgotten to amidst all that had happened in the last few minutes.

"You know, Malfoy," Harry started, giving Draco a once over. He looked a mess. "That probably wasn't the smartest of things," he said. Draco blinked curiously.

"What are you talking about?"

Harry smiled softly, approaching Draco slowly. "Sitting in here like that. I mean, anyone could have waltzed right on in, and then what would you have done. Perhaps if it had been Filch…?" Harry trailed off, and Draco smirked smugly.

"Granger is one very good friend, Potter," he said, lifting a very familiar handful of parchment and waving it around. "You're lucky. How long have you had this, exactly?"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, mouth agape in horror. "You've been watching me?"

Draco blinked, obviously confused. "Erm, no…I only just got it today. I was going to give it back, promise!" At that particular moment, Draco looked like a child getting caught stealing cookies before dinner.

Harry's stomach lurched in an odd way, and he looked at Draco, eyes narrowed, as he tried to figure out what it was before it happened again.

"Er, you can have it now, if you want," Draco said.

Harry found it very ironic, the way they had switched rolls, and so quickly, too! He burst out laughing, leaving a bewildered looking Draco to stare at him, dumbfounded.

"Potter, are, uh, you okay?" Draco asked, hesitatingly.

"Sorry," Harry gasped out between laughs. "Sorry,"

Draco stared at Harry awkwardly for a few minutes as Harry bellowed with laughter. Then, he became calm all of a sudden, and Draco blinked in surprise.

"Sorry about that. Yes, I'd like the map back, if you please."

Harry stuck out his hand, demanding the parchment, but Draco just stared at him. "You're sure you're right in the head, Potter?" he asked, voice shaking slightly.

Harry smiled. "Promise."

Draco reluctantly handed the map over, then sheepishly scuffed his toe against the plush rug. Harry found his behavior very uncharacteristic, and was about to comment on it, when Draco said, "You know, I've been worried. I know that I have no right to be. Hell, I hardly know you. But I think…I think we should…put aside our differences. Call a truce of some sort?"

Harry blinked. "You mean this summer you were just being nice out of the kindness of your heart?" Harry asked in mock awe. "I thought we'd had a truce then."

Draco flushed. "Yes, well…" he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Shall we make it formal, then?" he asked after a pregnant silence.

Harry tilted his head to the side, and Draco sighed and took the initiative by sticking his hand out. Harry smiled in understanding, and they shook hands.

Draco's grip was firm and light. His skin was soft, so soft.

Harry found himself becoming lost in Draco's molten silvery eyes, their faces but a mere centimeter apart when Harry finally realized what was going on.

"Oh, bugger it," he heard Draco murmur, and before he knew it, Draco's lips were crashing down on his, soft and sweet and warm and gentle, and oh, God, what were they doing, and why did it feel so right? Harry could feel Draco's hands cradling his face softly, could see that his eyes were closed, showing exactly how vulnerable he was, and Harry felt his heart melt a little, as his stomach did that weird little leaping thing again.

When they pulled apart, Draco opened his eyes, looking quite dazed and unfocused. His cheeks were flushed, and he avoided eye contact with Harry.

"Er, I've got to speak with Lady Elizabeth about something," Harry stated awkwardly, stepping as far away from Draco as he could without bumping into the wall.

Draco's eyes focused on Harry's, and he raised an eyebrow curiously. "About what? Granger says…uh…why are you so friendly with portraits all of a sudden?"

Harry noticed his slip, and his brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what exactly Draco had been about to say about Hermione.

Draco was looking at Harry expectantly, and Harry sighed, allowing the slip to pass for at least the present moment. "I…they're easy to talk to, I guess." Harry said lamely.

Draco seemed intrigued. "Easy to talk to about what?" he pressed.

"About things that other people don't understand."

"Like what?" An excited gleam was finding its way into Draco's eyes, and Harry didn't like the look of it.

"Nothing!" he exclaimed, a bit too fast for his likings.

Draco sighed and relented. "No need to get defensive, Potter, I was just asking."

Harry heaved a sigh of relief and allowed his body to sag against the wall, suddenly drained of his energy.

"Do you know when she'll be getting back?" he asked awkwardly, and Draco shook his head. "Fine. I'm, er, pretty tired. I'm going to go off to bed, then," Harry stated, relieved that today was a Saturday.

Draco blinked at him. "You're not going to Hogsmead?" he asked.

Confusion clouded Harry's eyes, and he blinked at Draco. "What do you mean?"

Draco sighed and looked at Harry as though he were speaking to a small child. "Today is the first Hogsmead trip of the year. You're not going?"

Harry had nearly forgotten. He exhaled sharply through his nostrils, and looked at Draco unblinkingly. Draco shifted, unnerved by Harry's sharp gaze.

"I guess not," Harry said slowly, as though thinking it over. "I just got out of the hospital wing, for Merlin's sake. I doubt Madam Pomfrey would let me go even if I wanted to," he said in way of an excuse.

Draco grinned at him, and Harry sighed. He just knew Draco was up to something.

"Well, why don't I stay here with you, then?" Draco asked, unhesitatingly.

Harry snorted and looked away. "Don't you have something better to do?" he asked, voice edging on desperate. "Anything?"

Draco smirked. "Nope," he said, looking much happier than he had when Harry had first spotted him. "I'm all yours."

Harry clapped his hand over his forehead and groaned.

…

…

…

Spending the day with Draco wasn't nearly as horrible as Harry had expected it to be. Although Lady Elizabeth didn't show up at all that day, Harry hardly noticed. The time seemed to fly right by, and by the end of the day, Harry and Draco were getting along like good friends. Currently, Draco was beating Harry spectacularly in a very intense game of chess. Harry couldn't remember trying so hard to win ever in his life, even against Ron.

Draco's grey eyes measured Harry intently, glinting in the fierce fire light that spilled across the chessboard and lit up Harry's face, making it look oddly angled because of the shadows that crossed his cheeks. He could hardly see Harry's eyes through the glasses he wore - the fire was reflecting off of the large round lens in an almost mirrorly fashion, which bothered Draco to no end (although he refused to mention anything of the sort, in case Harry decided to withdraw once again).

Draco's gaze on Harry, unnerving as it was, was also slightly intriguing. It made Harry wonder what exactly Draco was thinking about, his eyes stormy and far away, even as he told his bishop to take Harry's queen.

Harry groaned as the queen was thrown violently off the board, and looked down at his pieces (all three of them), a look of vulnerability finding its way into his eyes and tugging at the corners of his lips.

Draco blinked as he watched Harry look down at his pieces, disheartened. The downturn of his lips seemed very interesting, and Draco found himself unconsciously leaning forward as he gazed at the pouting lips.

Harry, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice Draco's actions at all, as he glared down at the chessboard, contemplating his next move.

Draco, too caught up in Harry's lips to notice that he was much closer to them than he had been before, continued to lean forward, and forward still, until his eyes were nearly _touching _Harry's lips.

Harry, grinning triumphantly, had his knight jump one of Draco's pawns, coming face to face with Draco's king. "Check!" he cried, and jumped nearly ten feet in the air when he noticed that Draco was leaning over the chess board, nearly about to topple the pieces over with his weight, and that he was awfully close. A little too close for Harry's comfort, he decided, and he leaned back a bit, to find that for some reason, Draco didn't seem to take the hint, as enthralled as he was with Harry's lips.

"Er, Draco?"

Draco blinked and looked up to meet Harry's eyes. His own eyes were glazed over and smoldering, and Harry didn't think it was because of the firelight reflected in the otherwise clear pools.

"Are, uh, you okay?" Harry asked, heat finding its way up his neck and into his cheeks, and he knew he was blushing, he just _knew _it.

Draco blinked, the firelight disguising his blush, and pulled away swiftly, mind scrambling for an excuse that Harry hadn't asked for. "Er, yeah, fine,"

Harry gave Draco a half-smile, and sat up. "I'm, uh, getting kinda hungry," he stated, and Draco, relieved, took the distraction wholeheartedly as the invitation to drop the subject that it was.

…

…

…

Meanwhile, Harry Potter was not the only person who had decided against going to Hogsmead.

Although there were still second years and under, along with the few students that hadn't gotten their permission slips signed and turned in on time, Hermione Granger ignored them. They were of no use to her, and she was on a mission.

Draco was currently distracting Harry in the Room of Requirements, and Hermione wasn't sure about the allotted amount of time that she had before Harry got suspicious.

Sneaking through the halls and corridors of the great Hogwarts was not really a task that Hermione excelled at. It was only with the help of Harry's borrowed invisibility cloak that she managed to sneak up on an unsuspecting portrait of a tall, dark haired man chatting with Lady Elizabeth, and petrify it.

She had some questions, and she wanted answers. She would be damned if she allowed Harry to hurt for one more minute.


	23. Lady Elizabeth's Sacrifice

**A/N: **Many thanks are directed to my wonderful beta, Steven, who most definitely cleaned up this chapter, and improved upon it a great deal. Without you, I have no idea where this fic would be!

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**Lady Elizabeth's Sacrifice**

Hermione hid the petrified portrait beneath the borrowed invisibility cloak as she rushed through the halls, barely noticing when people greeted her, or had to jump out of her way so as not to be barreled over.

One Ravenclaw girl was not nearly as lucky, and scuttled around angrily picking up her scattered books (a multitude of which looked to be for sixth years, according to the titles, but Hermione barely paid attention to that, despite her bookwormy habits) and dusting herself off, all the while muttering about how "Unfit Hermione was to be Head Girl."

Hermione sighed and apologized to the girl, although it was half-hearted. She bent down to help the girl pick up her books (albeit reluctantly), but the girl hissed and yanked the precious tombs from beneath her hands before Hermione could even reach them. Hermione glared at the girl, eyebrow twitching threateningly as she apologized once more.

It was on the tip of her tongue to deduct points from the girl, but Hermione realized (reluctantly, of course) that there would be no standings, and the girl was a prefect herself. It just would not have been right, Hermione had finally decided with a sigh, and turning on her heel quickly, she continued her race down the corridors, portrait clasped tightly in her hands beneath the invisibility cloak.

Hermione scrambled into the abandoned girls' bathroom, chest heaving, as she leaned against the door for purchase and began to get her breathing under control. Triumphantly, she leaned the portrait against the wall, facing directly toward another portrait she had managed to wheedle into the plan, last minute.

The man in the portrait glared at the painting for a few seconds before Hermione unpetrified it, his triangular eyebrows bunched together in disgust. He was most certainly a Slytherin, if the way his upper lip curled in disdain at Lady Elizabeth was by any means a way of explanation.

A few slightly difficult spells later, and Lady Elizabeth was unable to escape her painted prison.

In vain, Lady Elizabeth pounded on the canvas, desperately glaring at Hermione, who was slightly remorseful, and rethinking on her plan.

But Draco, as well as a majority of the Gryffindors, were relying on the information Hermione would be cultivating here, so reluctantly, she gave up and with a wilted smile directed toward Lady Elizabeth, she left the room.

The dark haired man Lady Elizabeth had been speaking to stared distrustfully at Lady Elizabeth. "What in the ruddy hell is this all about?" he asked suspiciously.

Lady Elizabeth frowned. She knew what she was supposed to do, but she couldn't give away Harry's secrets, not that easily! Disappointment in herself became clear as she thought, shutting out both of the painted wizards and instead concentrated on what she should tell them and what she shouldn't. She knew she was under no obligation to tell them anything, but the way that girl had looked at her…

Lady Elizabeth sighed. She really did have to work on making her bindings unbreakable, and leaving out the fact that other portraits could also be included was not a very good thing, and would often leave her confidantes in great discomfort, if she didn't learn from her mistakes.

The man in the portrait across from her crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow in speculation, waiting for her to begin.

Before she said anything to that man, though, she turned to face the man she had been chatting with, and sighed. "I am sorry, but I cannot allow this to get out. It is safer if I only allow _him _to know, and I apologize greatly for dragging you into this, Sir William. You understand?"

Sir William's dark eyebrows furrowed, and he looked her over thoughtfully. "I was only abducted because of you, yes? I have no other reason to be here besides that of my acquaintance with you?" he asked, eyes dark and unforgiving.

Lady Elizabeth nodded, eyes pained, and Sir William sighed. "Very well." he agreed. Lady Elizabeth smiled at him thankfully, and she hugged him warmly before drawing away and extracting a thin, blond-colored bit of wood. Brandishing the wand with slight regret flashing in her eyes, she uttered a short, simple spell, and Sir William fell bonelessly to the painted ground.

"Very impressive, Madam Malfoy. But do get on with it," the other painted wizard sneered, and Lady Elizabeth glared.

"Why that poor girl ever thought that you were stable enough, or at _all_, to be her resource is beyond me, Leonard. But very well."

Lady Elizabeth selectively told Leonard most of the happenings of the past month, leaving out some of the most important things, and stretching the truth on more than one occasion.

Unbeknownst to them, a young girl had remained in the bathroom, hovering just above the toilet in one of the deserted and rather smelly cubicles. Eyes wide, Moaning Myrtle gasped. When it seemed as though Lady Elizabeth was finished telling her long and mournful tale, the young girl dove into the toilet, to allow the pipes to take her to her destination.

…

…

…

Meanwhile, Leonard's eyes were widening in shock. "Lady Malfoy!" he cried, staring at her forehead, slack jawed.

Lady Elizabeth blinked confusedly, then she felt the slight magic wrapping itself around her, the slight orange glow as words began to form on her forehead.

When the light faded, and all that was left was an eerily silent girls' rest room, Lady Elizabeth was left with one word, stamped in bold red capital letters. "**DECEIVER**"

"You took a vow of silence?" Leonard demanded. It was more of a statement, and he knew what was going to happen next if she were to be caught.

Lady Elizabeth's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yes. And I deserve this. I have betrayed him."

She refused to look up at the other portrait as painted tears fell down her cheeks swiftly. Leonard sighed as he stared at her, unable to help, and not knowing anything that could change the boy's mind about her betrayal.

Hermione slipped into the room inconspicuously, only to walk in on silence. A slight sniffling noise led her to the corner she had propped the two portraits in, and her eyes widened in despair when she spotted the letters on Lady Elizabeth's forehead. "Oh, Lady Elizabeth! I'm so sorry!"

Rushing over, she began to cast as many spells as she could think of on Lady Elizabeth, none of them working to make it known that Lady Elizabeth was _not _a betrayer, and although none made the letters on Lady Elizabeth's forehead disappear, they didn't make the words any brighter or more obvious than they already were, either.

Hermione sighed and slumped to the ground when she ran out of spells. "Lady Elizabeth," she began, disheartened and sober. She wasn't nearly as determined to find out what Lady Elizabeth had told Leonard as she had been earlier that day. "I'm sorry. You tell Harry…tell him that I forced you at wand point, and ran off once I realized that you were under a vow of silence." A pained look was in Hermione's eyes, and she couldn't hide the guilt from Lady Elizabeth's searching gaze.

"I will do nothing of the sort," Lady Elizabeth said arrogantly, surprising Hermione from her submission with wide eyes and protests on the tip of her tongue. One look from Lady Elizabeth, and Hermione kept her lips sealed. Lady Elizabeth cleared her throat, and at that moment, she seemed to loom over Hermione, although she was a good two feet and seven inches shorter than Hermione's five-and-a-half feet. "Like I said, I will do nothing of the sort. I would never dream of ruining your relationship with the boy. He needs you too much for you to sacrifice yourself." Lady Elizabeth's knowing eyes met Hermione's, and Hermione's eyes filled with tears.

"But he needs you, too, Lady Elizabeth. He _trusts _you! He can't honestly believe that you willingly gave up information about him, information that you _promised _you'd keep secret! I can't allow that!"

"I'll think of something, Miss Granger. But if it comes down to it, I would be more than willing to sacrifice myself for that boy."

Hermione's face crumpled as she allowed tears to flow down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Lady Elizabeth," she said, kneeling in front of Lady Elizabeth's portrait as she wept. "So sorry,"

Lady Elizabeth looked down at Hermione miserably, and a lump formed in her nonexistent throat as she thought about what she was going to do when Harry found out that she had given up his secrets.

Hermione grasped the portrait she had abducted as she cried, letting the locked up pain of her sorrow, the pain that her friend had not confided in her, every little ounce of grief and regrets flow from her eyes until she was a boneless, heaving mound on the cold stone floor, and the tears refused to come any longer.

"You're forgiven, child. I have lived long, and will go to the grave heartily, if he should choose to send me there. But that boy needs you, and I'll be damned if you allow yourselves to be pulled apart after all that he's gone through."

Hermione looked up with sorrowful eyes at Lady Elizabeth, and the tears started anew.

It wasn't until many long hours later that Hermione finally managed to drag herself up to her feet and replace both of the portraits she had seized. Both Sir William and Lady Elizabeth watched sadly, as Hermione sorrowfully made her way up to Gryffindor Tower, to think over everything she had learned about Harry's crumbling demeanor, and the habits that Lady Elizabeth had said he had brought onto himself.

…

…

…

Late that night, Harry was still in the Room of Requirement with Draco. Things had grown a bit awkward between them after Draco had won every game of chess (all four of them!) against Harry. Harry had demanded a rematch, a game of something in which they both had equal skill.

And hence, a game of Quidditch had been in order.

Well, it wasn't really a game of Quidditch, as there were only the two of them, but it was close enough. They changed around quite a few of the rules, until they were left with the essentials of a completely new game.

Harry had deemed the game "Chase." The aim of the game was to score the most points in the allotted time of an hour. They had narrowed the balls of the game down to just two: the Snitch and the Quaffle. There was one hoop at each end of the field that the Room of Requirement had become, and the aim of the game was to get the Quaffle through the hoop to earn points, similar to a regular game of Quidditch. Since it was a one on one game, the rules were a bit different, and the boys were allowed to be a bit more…_hands on_. Violence was sure to ensue (and, of course, it did).

The bit with the Snitch was much different, as well. Once it was released, they weren't allowed to catch it for five minutes, in order to, instead, focus on the Quaffle and earning points. Each goal scored was worth ten points, and catching the Snitch once was worth fifty. However, one of the things that were different between the game of Quidditch and the game of Catch was the fact that once caught, the Snitch was released once more. Neither person was allowed to catch it for five minutes after it was released (it was quite obvious where it was at all times, but it was an enhanced Snitch, so it was fast, and very hard to catch).

Draco had ended up winning all three of the Catch matches they had played against each other, with a landslide score of always at least thirty more points than Harry, according to the scoreboard that had magicked itself somewhere off to the side of the imitation field (that was at least five times smaller than an actual Quidditch field, because the Room of Requirement was just that - a room, and it had its limits just like anything else).

Harry had been very put off at the fact that Draco was better than he had been at that particular sport, and the triumphant sneer that Draco wore after winning wasn't helping much. After accusing Draco of cheating, a fight of sorts had ensued, with both boys rolling about on the grass, staining their clothes a muddy, musty green color, although neither noticed, as caught up as they were in the heat of the moment.

The fight eventually dwindled its way down to half-hearted slapping and verbal abuse, and eventually, kisses. Passionate, rough kisses, with hands sliding beneath clothes and tightly clenched shut eyes as tongues plundered and mouths sucked, and teeth bit and clashed.

The Room of Requirement shifted for the third time that day, into a dark room lit by candles and not much else. A fire roared in a hearth, but neither boy noticed the change at all, as they continued to roll about on the plush, carpeted floor, hands groping and fingers clawing and tongues fighting for dominance.

All reasoning fled from their minds as the kisses continued, Draco holding Harry tightly to him, never to be released.

…

…

…

A knock on the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld place, set the residents on edge. Molly Weasley cautiously opened the door an inch, peeking out to see who the intruder was. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly opened the door. "Tonks! How wonderful it is to see you again!" A quick hug was directed toward the now blond haired woman. Drawing away slightly, Molly looked her over. "How have you been?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

Tonks grinned, carefully extracting herself from Molly's embrace. "I've been better," she said, gesturing a thumb over her shoulder toward a rather beefy looking boy.

Molly's eyes widened. "Is that-?" she whispered, and Tonks nodded gravely. "Oh, by all means, get him in, get him in! Quickly now, and shut the door behind you, before anyone sees!"

With that, Molly rushed off toward the kitchen, gesturing Tonks to follow her. The boy looked around the foyer curiously, beady eyes glistening apprehensively as he stepped inside.

Tonks sighed and slammed the door behind her, before leading the overly large boy into the kitchen, where he was, no doubt, about to gain even more weight.


	24. Stampede

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Stampede **

Dudley Dursley's piggish eyes gleamed greedily as piles of food were set on the table in front of him. His mouth began watering immediately, and before he was even invited to join anyone for the meal, Severus Snape found the large boy sitting beside him in seconds, shoveling heaping amounts of anything within his reach onto the previously empty plate at his now occupied spot at the table.

Severus sneered distastefully at the rather large boy, and wondered why he was not the least bit suspicious about the magical people surrounding him. He seemed rather curious, in fact, which was quite odd, since his parents despised everything out of the ordinary, and had brought him up to be the same.

At the end of the rather uncomfortable meal, Dudley leaned back in his seat and let loose a loud belch. Snape glared nastily at the large boy, his crooked nose wrinkled in disgust as he attempted to scoot away.

"Where's Harry?" Dudley demanded loudly, piggish eyes going suspiciously from Snape to Dumbledore to Tonks and Mrs. Weasley, and back again.

Draco had yet to return from the task the young Granger girl had given him, and though it probably was not safe for him to be away from Number 12, he would be at Hogwarts, which was the safest place the boy could be.

Snape glared at Dumbledore, eyebrow cocked condescendingly.

"That lady," Dudley said, pointing accusingly at Tonks, whose eyes widened in surprise. "Said that Harry would be here. Where is he?"

Tonks sighed and slapped herself over the head with an open palm. Dumbledore watched her over his half moon spectacles, eyes twinkling merrily and a smile playing with the corners of his mouth. Snape turned his condescending smirk towards Tonks, and Mrs. Weasley watched the four other occupants of the room curiously.

"He's at school," Tonks said after an awkward silence, in which Dudley continued to glare accusingly at her, his piggish eyes mere slits on his large, puffy face.

"Where's that?" Dudley demanded, slamming his large, fleshy fists on the table to punctuate his sentence.

Tonks looked at the other occupants of the room pleadingly, swiping her blonde hair out of her face in annoyance.

Dumbledore cleared his throat meaningfully, and Dudley's attention focused on him quickly, blanching slightly in realization that this was the wizard who had visited his home only a year before.

"I believe," Dumbledore began, eyes sparkling merrily. "That you should be the one answering a few questions, first."

Dudley swallowed visibly, hunching down in his chair as if hoping that it would swallow him up.

…

…

…

Ron glanced up from his Quidditch magazine at Ginny curiously, as she shot out of the Gryffindor common room, wondering where she was off to in such a rush. They had just returned from Hogsmead, alone, as Hermione had begged off, on the pretext of being sick, and Harry was off somewhere doing Merlin-knows-what.

"Oi, Ginny!" He called after. Her footsteps barely faltered as she turned around and rushed back into the room, hair flying in all directions and freckled cheeks flushed.

"Yes?" she asked, panting. She looked as though she was itching to get somewhere, and Ron was curious as to what she was doing.

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" he asked, eyebrows rising accusingly.

Ginny sighed in a huff, and glared heatedly at her brother. "Hermione wasn't in the girls' rooms. You haven't seen her, have you?" she asked, eyes sparkling with hope. "I have a question about my, er…Transfigurations homework. I was wondering if, er…she could go over it for me." Ginny beamed proudly at her excuse, and hoped that her brother would take it at face value.

"I can look it over," Ron said, eyes gleaming suspiciously.

Ginny blanched. "Er, no, that's okay. Hermione's got a…uh, better eye for these types of things, you know that. I'd much rather she does it, Ron. No offence,"

"It's not _that _important, is it?" Ron asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Today's _Saturday_, Ginny. Homework isn't due for at least another day and a half."

Ginny huffed once more. "Unlike _you_, Ronald, some of us like to have our things done _correctly_, on _time_." With that, she turned on her heel and rushed out of the room.

"Hey!" Ron called, cheeks flushed and ear tips red as he craned his neck to angle his shout out of the portrait hole after her. "My homework gets done on time!"

He was met by the sound of Ginny's footsteps as she rushed down the corridor, ignoring him completely. With a huff, he looked back down at the magazine, although his interest in the latest brooms was no longer there.

…

…

…

Hermione was busily searching through all the books she could find on a spell that would perhaps undo the mistake that she had made. She was on the fifth one with no luck, when Ginny burst into the room.

"Hermione!" she shouted, and blushed sheepishly when the hawk-like Madam Pince shot a deathly glower in her direction. With her voice lowered to a mere whisper, Ginny seated herself across from Hermione, cheeks flushed and her breath coming in uneven pants. "Hermione, I need your help,"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed, and she shot a narrow-eyed gaze at Ginny.

"What do you need _my _help with?" Hermione hissed back, carefully closing the book in front of her and adding it to the ever-increasing stack of books that held no hope.

Ginny, cheeks already red as could be, could feel her face burning, and hoped that Hermione couldn't tell that she was actually blushing. "What are you looking for?" she asked,**_ (1)feigning _**interest so that she could collect her thoughts.

Hermione's eyes widened, and her cheeks turned pink. "Nothing!" she hissed, flinging her book-bag onto the stack of books to cover the title of the first volume, and causing the tower of tomes to teeter dangerously.

Ginny blinked, but pretended not to notice the protectively pained look on Hermione's face.

Hermione cleared her throat after a short bout of awkward silence. "You needed my help?" she reminded Ginny attentively, her stance stiff and her fists clenched.

Ginny's eyes flashed momentarily, then she shook her head. "Oh, never mind. It wasn't important."

Hermione blinked, and Ginny stood. "Never mind. I'll, er, ask you later, when you're not so busy." With that, Ginny turned and left the library slowly, directing an apologetic look towards the disgruntled librarian before she left, the heavy wooden door shutting silently behind her.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was still at it. With a final sigh, she slammed yet another book down on the table and cradled her head in her hands. It was useless - there was no way around the spell that had damned Lady Elizabeth to non-existence, and she was beginning to tire. Draco had to be getting weary of spending time with Harry, as well, and it was only a matter of time until Harry decided he was bored with Draco's games. Hermione could only hope that Draco had kept Harry distracted enough for Lady Elizabeth to figure out a way to avoid him…

…

…

…

Harry groaned as he pulled away from Draco. His eyes searing, he searched Draco's eyes for some hint of laughter or mocking, his shields already rising to defend himself. Draco's eyes showed only openness. Hissing, Harry yanked back, quickly disentangling himself from Draco, and crab crawling away from him as quickly as he could.

Draco watched Harry curiously. "Wha…what's wrong?" he asked after a moment of confusion. He was still panting from the earlier attack on his lips.

Harry shook his head and quickly climbed to his feet. "Don't you yank me along, Malfoy! I'm not some toy for you to parade about! This isn't right, and I'm stopping it right now, before it becomes something that it shouldn't."

With that, Harry turned hastily on his heel, only to stop dead in his tracks, eyes wide, as he turned slowly back around. "Lady…Elizabeth?"

Draco's eyes widened, and he, too, turned to face the fireplace. Looking above the hearth, he caught sight of the painted woman in question, and couldn't stifle the gasp that came upon seeing the letters stamped across her forehead.

Harry stood in a transfixed shock, staring blindly at the painting as his eyes welled with tears. "Who did you tell?" he demanded. Then, he glared at Draco. "It was you, wasn't it?" he spat, eyes glinting hatefully.

Draco shook his head, eyes wide and vulnerable. "No!" he denied. "It wasn't, I swear! I was here with you the whole time! How could I have gotten…whatever it was that she told…how could I have gotten it out of her!"

Harry glanced up at Lady Elizabeth, and he blinked at the ashamed look on her face. "Harry," she called softly…so softly, in fact, that Harry nearly didn't hear her. "It wasn't Draco. It…it was not anyone you know. I just…I could not carry around your load any more, Harry. It was too much for me - I needed someone to help me with it. Someone to help me help you." Harry watched in astonishment as painted tears rolled down her cheeks, making them shine in the false light the painting offered for her.

Harry stared at her stiffly, eyes burning, and pain visible completely. "I…I'm sorry." Harry whispered softly.

Lady Elizabeth sighed and looked down in resignation. "Harry-"

"I shouldn't have burdened you with my problems, and I'm sorry!" Harry cried, startling both Draco and Lady Elizabeth as tears began welling in his eyes and he tried to contain himself.

"Harry, it wasn't-" Lady Elizabeth tried once again to say something, but Harry was not listening. He had turned on his heel and was rushing from the room as quickly as he could. "Harry, wait!"

Harry ignored her, opening the door and shutting it with a soft click behind him.

…

…

…

Draco looked between the portrait of a very distressed looking Lady Elizabeth, and the heavy door that had just shut. Eyebrow furrowed, he sighed heavily. "Lady Elizabeth…" he began, but trailed off and shook his head, knowing that what he was going to say would not be taken very well. "I…I'm going to go get him." With that, he, too, turned on his heel and rushed from the room.

Lady Elizabeth looked mournfully after him, but was silent…until the full blow of his words registered. Fright lodging itself in her mind, she rushed from her portrait, and managed to frighten a bunch of monks in the portrait in the corridor as she rushed after his retreating back. "Draco, come back!" she cried. She knew it was useless and that he was determined, but she had to try to stop him. It was already dangerous enough. Why did the boy want to die an early death?

She rushed through portraits, most of whose inhabitants she had known for quite some time. She pushed past people blocking her way, and rudely shouted at them if they refused to budge. Frantically, she cried after Draco, but he did not seem to notice. However, everyone else within hearing distance did.

It all started with a young Hufflepuff girl - presumably a third year. At hearing the name "Draco", she had spun around just in time to see said boy's platinum head disappearing around a corner. She screamed as loud as she could, proceeded to drop her books, and tripped over one as she tried to run away, resulting in her very unfortunate connection with the wall, where she hit her head and was knocked unconscious.

Several of her fellow classmates stopped to see what the commotion was, but were quickly disturbed from their fussing over the young girl as yet another scream ripped through the halls. A commotion at the other end of the corridor drew everyone's attention, as a swarm of students stampeded away from something that had quite literally scared the pee out of quite a few of them.

Pandemonium soon followed, and the girl who had fallen was forgotten as people struggled to get away from whatever had frightened them so badly. The poor girl's unconscious body ended up being trampled by quite a few feet, and although she turned out to be okay in the future, she suffered from three cracked ribs, a broken nose, and a fractured arm, not to mention many cuts and bruises.

It was later said by many people that Draco had thrown "_Crucio_" at her before running in fright, after she had bravely, although unsuccessfully tried to stop him from destroying everyone in the school.

_**(1)Feigning - Pretending, a false act, etc. **_


End file.
